


I can feel your heart inside of mine

by tigriswolf



Series: Alternate Universe [251]
Category: One Direction (Band), Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Bigotry & Prejudice, Conspiracy, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Magical Realism, Mind Control, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Secret Relationship, Treachery, Treason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-10 07:16:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 58,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5576212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/pseuds/tigriswolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fantasy AU where Crown Prince Louis has to choose a suitor, four of whom are Prince Liam, Lord Niall, Prince Zayn, and Harry the apprentice cook. Meanwhile, there’s a treasonous conspiracy afoot.</p><p>[will never be finished]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Declaration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thecheshirepussycat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecheshirepussycat/gifts).



> Title: I can feel your heart inside of mine  
> Disclaimer: most of them are real people who belong to themselves; the ones that aren’t belong to me; title from “If I Could Fly”  
> Warnings: fantasy AU where they sometimes speak pretty modernly; references to some prejudice/violence  
> Pairings: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Jay Poulston/Mark Tomlinson, Jay Poulston/Dan Deakin  
> Rating: PG  
> Point of view: third 
> 
> First note: There will be four parts; I'm on the third one now. Wordcount so far is at 56000 and there's still quite a ways to go. 
> 
> Second note: I'll be updating the tags/characters as I post. 
> 
> Third note: I do not understand nobility titles. Like, I’ve tried. I did actualfax research for a Cinderella retelling a few years ago (it was gonna be a novel but still languishes unfinished, alas) and I just don’t get it. So all the titles here? I’m just *handwaving* yeah? 
> 
> Fourth note: this is set in a fantasy medieval kind of AU where they sometimes speak fairly modernly and also the firstborn inherits the throne/empire/titles whatever their gender. 
> 
> Fifth note: I use _rite,_ _ward_ , and _rune_ interchangeably. I know they’re all different but in my fantasy AU here, they’re all the same thing. Also, every magic user is a _mage_ and _hedgewitches_ can be any sex. Also also, _arts_ and _magick(s)_ is used interchangeably as well. Also cubed, _attendant_ is used for palace staff with magic who aren’t formally court mages
> 
> Final note: WORLDBUILDING happened. Like, wow. How’d it get this long? 
> 
> Inspired by [this post](http://the-cheshire-pussy-cat.tumblr.com/post/80078741026/the-cheshire-pussy-cat-femme-louis-princess) and the tags.

Once, in a land far away in a time not all that long ago, actually, there was a prince of a prosperous realm known as Pallston, and the day had come for him to choose a spouse. Though he was the oldest of five children, his mother, the wise Queen Johannah, decided it was time to completely secure the throne. 

“Mum,” Crown Prince Louis argued, “I’m barely twenty years old!” 

His mother just raised an unimpressed eyebrow. 

“You weren’t married when you were my age!” he tried next. 

“No,” Mum agreed. “But I _did_ already have an heir.” She didn’t smirk, as it was unbecoming of a royal to smirk, but he could see it in her eyes. 

Louis had no response for that, because mentioning his father skirted breaking an unspoken rule of the palace. He didn’t know much about the man, only that he wasn’t fit for a princess, and so while his mother hid from the public for nearly a year, King Leonard had his father banished. Princess Johannah returned with an infant son and while a few tongues wagged, his grandfather embraced having an heir for his heir. Thankfully. Louis knew enough of history to be grateful. 

Princess Johannah did eventually marry the son of a duke, a good man who was more than happy to only ever be Prince Consort instead of King. Louis had been unsure of him at first, but when he thinks of his father, it’s Mum’s husband Lord Marcus of Tomlin he remembers. And in quick succession, the Princesses Charlotte, Félicité, Daisy, and Phoebe were born.

When Princess Félicité was still barely toddling around, King Leonard succumbed to an illness; Queen Jennifer had long been gone, victim of the same disease. So Princess Johannah became Queen Johannah but she never formally named her husband as Prince Consort, which should’ve been a warning, Louis sometimes thought with the benefit of hindsight. 

Because when Louis was eighteen years old, Mum and Dad separated and then _divorced_ , shocking not only Pallston from the peasants to the nobility but also the other four realms of the northern continent. Even though they’d been arguing in the inner rooms of the royal wing of the palace, long since spelled for utter silence to all listening outside the doors, even Louis hadn’t thought they’d resort to divorce.

And then, as if she hadn’t _already_ scandalized the conservatives enough, what with a firstborn heir out of wedlock and divorcing a perfectly good noble, Mum began favoring one of the palace stablehands. Nothing improper (yet), but Louis knew that Mum smiled more in this _Dan’s_ company in an hour than she had with Dad in the entire last year of their marriage. 

“I don’t have to get married,” he finally tried. “Certainly not _yet_ , Mum. The throne’s already secured because of the girls!” 

He didn’t want a princess, is the thing. Or a noble’s most eligible daughter. And he’d yet to even begin considering what that must mean except late at night when he couldn’t sleep for worrying. He’d had a handful of tumbles with maidens in town, and the lads had purchased the services of a prostitute for his eighteenth birthday. From those, he was quite certain he didn’t want a woman at all. He’d never allowed himself to stare at the fit manservants as they went about their duties, or notice the strength of the knights’ muscles—because of course he’d marry a woman one day, do his duty to Pallston. But that was far in the future… or it had been. 

“I’ve already had our foreign ministers begin approaching our neighboring monarchs,” Mum said. “The Emperor of Festano, too, and our nobles with daughters of suitable age.” 

“Mum,” he groaned, letting his head thump against the wall. “I just… I’m going for a walk.” 

“Of course, dear,” Mum said. “Dinner will be private tonight, just us and the girls.” 

Louis nodded. “I’ll be back in time.” 

.

There, of course, was only one place Louis would go when annoyed and needing to be cajoled out of it. 

“Prince Louis!” Harry called cheerfully, wrist deep in their venison dinner. “Come for more lessons?” 

Barbara, the head cook and Harry’s mistress, laughed, as did most of the others, but Harry just kept smiling at him. Louis couldn’t stop smiling in return, walking over to stand next to him, grimacing as he looked down at the venison. “I suppose,” Louis said, nudging him gently in the side. “I’ve an hour or two to waste.” 

Harry nudged him back. “Well, wash your hands then, Highness,” he said. “We’ll simply have to make sure it isn’t a waste.” 

…

Harry Styles, as the younger child of a very powerful mage and a farmer, could’ve chosen anything to do, really. His sister Gemma had chosen to travel since finishing university; she sent word every week, changing the method each time, usually humorous messages mocking Harry for his own, somewhat odd (according to her), choice. 

Mum understood, though. She was busy with her duties to the Mage Council, so they didn’t see each other much since he’d left his apprenticeship with her, but his apprenticeship in the palace gave him two-week leave every six months, so he’d go home to Dad’s farm in the Grimshaw duchy, though he sorely missed Louis for that fortnight and had to deal with a sulky prince when he returned to the palace.

He wasn’t lying to everyone, really. They just… assumed he was a peasant or something, because of his father, and it was easier to go along with it. And he _was_ a commoner. Just. With a smidge of magic. 

_Harry_ , Gemma’s message said the week it was announced Prince Louis would be choosing a future queen, _you’re just going to have a broken heart._

Which was quite true, Harry thought. But it never had been Prince Louis’ fault that Harry’d fallen in love at twelve years old. 

.

He’d been accompanying his mum on one of her monthly appointments with the capitol’s hedgewitches because back then, Harry had been Mum’s apprentice, with plans of attending the university for mages when he was old enough, though it was so far away near the mountains. He’d been full of questions and wonder, wide-eyed at everything Mum did or said, awed at the respect the capitol’s mages gave her. He hadn’t yet understood the true depth of Mum’s power, or her position working for the Council. Hadn’t yet been considering what his own might be. 

At twelve, he didn’t understand why he’d been sent away when Madame Stone led Mum to a room shielded with protection runes, or the anger on Mum’s face. He’d just been a little hurt, until he realized it meant he could wander without Mum, could go places without her disapproval or presence. 

Because he was exploring the lower marketplace, and then peppering the young woman at the baker’s stall with questions, he saw the prettiest boy in the world sneaking sweets from a stall opposite. The boy grinned at him, bringing a finger to his lips, and then disappeared down a path through the marketplace, while Harry gaped at where the boy had been. 

And then he followed. He’d barely caught up when a loud voice shouted, “Prince Louis! Damnit, boy, I’ve told you to stop going into town without us!” 

Harry froze in place, watching men in the royal livery surround the prettiest boy in the world, who was pouting up at a large, scary man. “What’s the big deal, Sergeant Higgins?” the boy ( _Prince Louis of Pallston?!_ ) demanded. Harry slowly backed up while Sergeant Higgins sighed.

He didn’t know it yet, but he’d already fallen. From that moment in the marketplace, he had an obsession with the capitol, with returning, with the royal family who’d only been an idea before—they were Dad’s royalty, anyway, since he lived and worked in Pallston, not Mum’s because she was a journeymage with no allegiance to any one court. Harry wasn’t even sure if she was Pallstonien or not. Gemma loved mocking him for his need to return, while Dad and Robin tried talking him out of it, and Mum just sighed. But she kept bringing him to the capitol, and he’d go back to that same marketplace, and sometimes, Prince Louis would be there. He’d catch Harry’s eye with a grin, always sneaking sweets, and as he grew older, Harry realized everyone knew what Prince Louis was doing. And that he also dropped a coin into the stall for whatever it was he’d just snuck. It was like a game or something, between the stallholders and the prince, and to acknowledge it was to lose—and as Harry would learn later, Louis rarely lost at anything. 

When he was sixteen and about to go to work at the palace kitchens as an apprentice cook, thanks to a favor someone owed Mum (though he’d earn the spot, of course, thrice over), he approached Prince Louis for the first time to ask him, “What’s your favorite meal?” 

Louis had laughed brightly, rocking back on his feet. “What’s it to you?” he asked in return. 

Harry shrugged. “Just curious. I mean, I’ve been wantin’ to talk for years now but you always run off too quickly.” 

Louis laughed again. “Well, I guess you’ll have to be here next time, won’t you?” He smiled and winked, and spun around to dash off. 

Harry didn’t follow, and he wasn’t there next time. Instead, he was in the kitchens, following Barbara around, and three weeks after he started, Prince Louis stalked into the kitchen angrily and threw himself into a chair, arms crossed, pouting at the floor. One of the kitchen aides brought him a small biscuit. 

“Y’alright there, Highness?” Barbara called. 

“Just Mum and Dad,” Prince Louis muttered. 

Harry glanced from the meat he was carving to the prettiest boy in the world despondently picking at a biscuit, and then he asked, “What’s your favorite meal, Highness?” smiling as Prince Louis just gaped him, and then Prince Louis was grinning back at him. 

. 

In his younger years, Louis was apparently quite the little terror throughout the palace. He’d matured a bit as he grew, got into fewer messes, though his schemes got ever more intricate. He was however, according to the palace gossip that Harry absorbed as much of as he could, universally adored by the staff, the same as his sisters. 

Which is why Harry rarely got in trouble whenever Louis pulled him into whatever mess he wanted to make. For all that Louis was royalty and Harry merely an apprentice of the household, they were the best of friends, and it soon became known to most of the residents of the palace that whenever Prince Louis was sulking or raging, the curly-haired apprentice cook could lighten his mood. 

It wasn’t exactly what Harry wanted, being Prince Louis’ closest friend, but he’d take it since his greatest desire was surely impossible, not that he’d ever dare ask for it.

Gemma, Mum, Dad, and Robin all tried talking him out of it. Told him he could be doing so much more in the world. Robin had Seen something for him—

But he answered simply, “I don’t _want_ to do more in the world.” He’d grown out of his childhood dream of being powerful, of being grand, of being mighty and known the world over, his name feared and respected throughout the lands. 

And so two years passed. Barbara handed off ever more responsibilities and dozens of feasts were successful, three balls and five masques, a dozen royal birthday celebrations—and then came the announcement. 

It was not a surprise for Harry, as Prince Louis ( _Can’t you stop callin’ me that, Harold? Just Louis, I’ve told you!_ ) told him the very first day Queen Johannah mentioned it. 

But Gemma said, _Harry, you’re just going to have a broken heart_ , and Harry knew she was right. She’d been telling him not to fade away pining for years, and he’d given up on explaining that he wasn’t _pining_ — he’d had tumbles with a few girls and boys back in Holmes Chapel and among the palace household staff. It just… none of them held a candle to Louis and that was no one’s fault, least of all Louis’.

…

Sometimes, when he was suffering through the monotony of Court with Mum and listening to the bickering nobles, Louis actively longed for his younger days with Sergeant Higgins, being trained on horseback or swordplay or strategy, or even his dusty old tutor’s decorum lessons. He preferred the petitions made by commoners to the deceitfulness of the courtiers, but he was around the nobility so much more. It was why he’d snuck away so often when he was younger, running about the safest marketplace and pretending that no one recognized him. 

It was also why, he’d realized later, that Sergeant Higgins let him think he’d escaped each time. Better that they knew where he was, even though he’d thought himself successful at evading them, than him actually managing it. 

Lottie had begun her own training with Sergeant Higgins when she turned thirteen, and while a few of the older conservatives protested such unladylike behavior for a princess, Mum and Louis both approved it. It’d be Fi’s turn soon enough. 

Whenever Louis felt angry or annoyed or antsy, and Harry was too busy for Louis to feel comfortable bothering him, he’d go down into the practice yards and spar with whoever was available. He often got thrashed, of course, though nothing ever permanent or too serious, and he’d never be as good as an actual knight. But it was fun, and it cleared his mind, and he’d leave bruised and maybe bloody, and he’d feel like he’d accomplished something. 

And usually, after, he’d slip into the kitchens, where Harry somehow knew to have a treat of some kind waiting, and he’d fuss over Louis’ bruises, and everything just seemed better. (He resolutely _did not_ think about the implications of it.) 

.

Halfway through Court Mage Cowell’s parade of eligible young women, a flashy show of magic that grated on Louis’ nerves, he said, “Mum, can I speak to you privately?” 

It was his most closely-held secret, something he’d never even told Harry. His hands shook, his stomach roiled, and he met his mother’s gaze for merely a moment before glancing away. 

“I don’t want a queen, Mum,” he confessed, controlling his breathing in an effort to keep calm. He would do his duty, he _would_ but he needed her to understand that he wasn’t being _difficult_ just for the sake of it. 

“I know you don’t, Louis,” Mum said. “But you do need to get married, sweetheart.” 

“No,” Louis sighed. “I mean.” He glanced at her again before looking down. “I mean, I don’t want a _woman_ at all. I don’t. I.” He ran a hand through his hair, clutching at the strands. 

“Oh,” Mum said. “Well.” She chuckled a little so Louis chanced glancing up. “I suppose this explains that cook, doesn’t it?” 

Louis _felt_ himself blush. “Harry’s just a friend,” he said, ignoring how much he didn’t like the way the words felt on his tongue. But what commoners could do, nobles couldn’t, and royalty certainly not. 

Mum laughed before tapping a finger against her lips as she thought. “This will require a bit more work, then,” she finally said. “But the search continues.” 

“Mum,” Louis said, hurt and rage shooting through him at such a frank dismissal of something so important to him. “You can’t –”

“For a future Prince Consort,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Instead of a Queen.” 

Louis stared at her. “You… really?” he asked. “But the conservatives…” 

Mum scoffed. “I dared have a child out of wedlock and not only _kept_ the child but named him Heir. You wedding a man is no worse than that.” She grinned wickedly. “There are multiple ways to get an heir, dear.” 

Sighing in relief, Louis pulled his mum into a hug. “But I still don’t want to get married,” he said as they separated. 

“I’ll send messages to all the ministers,” Mum said, ignoring him. “Eligible sons instead of daughters!” 

Louis sighed again, still too relieved to be annoyed yet. He knew that’d come later. 

...

“What?” Harry asked after a moment of stunned silence, staring at Louis. 

“Um,” his prince said. “Well, I still have to get married, see, but it’ll be to a man instead of a woman.” 

Harry felt his magic try to flare out, so he grabbed for it without looking away from Louis. If Louis liked men instead of women… 

Well. Louis was still royal, so Harry’s desire might’ve been reciprocated but he could never be more than a tumble. And that would’ve just hurt more in the end, Harry knew himself well enough to know that. 

“Why do you think Her Majesty is pushing this marriage so strongly?” he asked. And rewriting laws for it, turning tradition on its head. How it would be presented to the other realms—well, Gryn would most likely not care, and possibly Payen, either. But Festano and Malka, Harry hadn’t the faintest idea. 

Louis shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I just… I’m so happy she didn’t, didn’t disinherit me or cast me out or somethin’, you know?” 

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry said, reaching out to clasp his shoulder, giving him a comforting squeeze. “Did you really think she would?” 

“No,” Louis admitted with a small laugh. “Not really. But our greatest fears aren’t really rational, are they?” He tilted his head, smiling up at Harry through his eyelashes, and Harry was almost positive that he didn’t even _realize_ how flirty it was. Louis hadn’t ever really flirted with Harry, or any other men on staff, not with purpose. He was just… tactile. Bright and loud. So very lovely. 

“For the marriage,” Harry finally asked, letting his hand drop. “Will Her Majesty or you be making the final selection?” 

Louis sighed. “Mum’s going to invite her final choices to the palace for a month-long visit,” he said. “And if I don’t pick a favorite from them, she’ll choose and make it a Royal Order.” He sighed again, slumping down to rest his elbows on his thighs, his face in his hands. “I just want to marry for love, Harry. Is that so wrong?” 

Harry _literally_ had to grip his own thighs to keep from reaching out to pull Louis into his arms. “I’m sure she has her reasons,” is what he finally said, knowing it was of no comfort at all. Louis laughed without a single ounce of mirth and Harry _ached_ to hold him. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s head to the marketplace.” He needed to be in the kitchen to help prepare dinner, and surely Louis had some princely duties to attend to—

But Louis raised his head, smiling, and Harry didn’t care about anything else at all. 

…

On Crown Prince Louis’ 21st birthday, it was announced that he would be wed on the Summer Solstice—to a suitable male suitor. Word spread throughout the land that ten suitors would spend a month at the palace in the spring and from them, the prince’s spouse would be chosen. 

While some were outraged and horrified, most did not truly care. Proclamations had been sent throughout Pallston about new laws for months, and the Crown Prince marrying a man explained it. Conservatives tried raising a fuss, mainly just to hear themselves rant. What they shouted at each other in the privacy of their own lands would never be repeated where Queen Johannah could hear it. 

…

While his mother and her ministers whittled down the list to the final ten (and negotiated fairly fiercely with the neighboring monarchs, though Louis wasn’t privy to that, and wasn’t sure if he was insulted or not at not being allowed), Louis spent time in Court, or on the training grounds, or (usually) with his sisters, interrupting their lessons for adventures. Lottie generally considered herself too old for such nonsense, he knew, but she was worried about the marriage business, too. Harry often accompanied them in whatever trouble they were causing, and only Barbara’s affection for them both kept him from punishment (not that Louis would ever let any punishment stand). 

Harry was the only one Louis confided his worries in; none of the lads he usually palled around with had ever been considered trustworthy. Louis knew that the nobles’ children, especially the children of courtiers always seeking to earn favor from the queen, would take anything the prince told them straight to their parents, even Calvin and Oli. They were good for a laugh, good to go hunting with, or to party with (though Louis always kept track of how much he drank, and retired when it reached the level that loosened his tongue), but none of them were _friends_ , not the way Stan had been when they were children or Harry was now. 

But Harry wanted nothing from him. He never had, from that first moment in the marketplace. Harry wanted nothing from him and so Louis gave him everything, and he actively avoided considering what that must mean. 

And it wasn’t until the year turned, as Cowell created lightning and formed shapes from it, as Harry gazed up in wonder at the magic, that Louis looked at him and thought, _I wish I could marry you._

And it wasn’t until Harry turned to him, face lit up in his most brilliant smile, that Louis thought, _Well, why can’t I?_

…

In the spring, the ten final suitors for Crown Prince Louis of Pallston were announced to the northern continent: all were nobles of the realm or royals from nearby realms save for two commoners: Edward Sheeran, a minstrel famous throughout the continent, and Harry Styles, a cook’s apprentice in the palace. 

“Does this affect anything?” Duke Walsh asked Mage Cowell as they had their weekly breakfast. 

Mage Cowell smirked toothily. “Of course not.” 

…

When Harry was called into a private meeting with Queen Johannah, he nearly fainted. He was sure that he would be arrested or banished for the utterly mad scheme Louis had engineered, and he could still hear Gemma shouting, _Are you stupid, Harry? Your heart’ll be broken for sure if you do this!_

But Queen Johannah just smiled at Harry’s shaky bow and said, “Please sit, Apprentice. Styles.” He took a seat and stared down at his hands, entirely too nervous to try speaking, and then Queen Johannah said, “Yours is the only name my son put on the list himself. Everyone else was chosen with utmost care from a list of criteria formed by my Council and myself.” 

Harry wanted to fidget. He kept very still. 

“I have known of your friendship from the moment my son first met you in the kitchens, Apprentice Styles,” Queen Johannah continued. “I waited for whatever you would ask of Louis, and yet you have never asked for favors.” He glanced up, saw that she was staring at him, and looked back down. “Answer me now honestly,” Queen Johannah ordered, “and be aware that you _will_ be punished should you lie. Did you ask the Crown Prince to put you on the list of suitors?” 

Harry shook his head, swallowed heavily, and said, “He suggested it.” Harry’s heart had nearly stopped when Louis did, and he’d watched as Louis paced around the small library, ranting about all the strangers being brought in. 

“Why?” Queen Johannah demanded. 

In the end, Harry had agreed for numerous reasons Louis didn’t know. But the answer he repeated for the queen was the one that finally convinced Harry. 

“Because,” he said softly, “Louis told me he wanted to at least like his husband.” 

_You don’t even know them, Louis,_ Harry had argued. _Maybe you’ll like them._

Louis had looked up at him, something soft and sad in his eyes. _You’re my favorite person I’m not related to, Harold_ , he’d said. _Won’t you please do this for me?_

How could Harry refuse him? Looking at Queen Johannah now, watching a smile he’d seen on Louis’ lips before spread across her face, Harry sighed in relief. 

“You’ll have the same chance as the others,” the queen said. “Now, I’m sure you have duties, Apprentice. See to them.” 

“Your Majesty,” he said, standing and bowing before he hurried out. 

_You are the stupidest brother I have!_ Gemma’s last message thundered. Mum’s had been less insulting but just as worried. Only Robin had sent congratulations, and a very small charm to ward off mind-magicks because, the note read, the portents were turning worrisome. That Mum hadn’t sensed anything was worrisome in and of itself. 

Harry immediately gave the charm to Louis, who smiled down at it in bemusement. “Tokens already?” he’d asked, before the list of suitors was even announced. 

Harry’d shrugged bashfully. “It’s the custom in Holmes Chapel, Highness,” he lied effortlessly. He’d added his own protection spell to the charm (stronger than Robin’s, and utterly permanent), strung it onto an unbreakable silver chain (itself charmed for general protection), and then spelled it again so that the whole thing would be unnoticeable. 

“I thought Holmes Chapel is full of farmers,” Louis mused, holding the small necklace up to the light. “So why a ship’s anchor?” 

Harry shrugged again. “I’ve always been fascinated with the ocean,” he said. “Sailing… things.” 

Louis looked at him. “Well then, guess I’ve gotten my first courting gift, haven’t I?” He undid the clasp and put the necklace on. 

Truly, Harry did feel a little uneasy with the deception, but if the portents were right—well. Harry watched as his magic settled into Prince Louis’ skin and felt only relief. 

The night after his meeting with Queen Johannah, Harry sketched out a quick rune-read, just to see if the portents would reveal themselves to him as they did Robin. As always, the future was clouded from him; his talents never had been in Foresight, no matter how Robin tried to teach him. Mum’s talent was weather-witching, and Gemma’s ran to the most offensive magick in a hundred years of the bloodline, according to Mum. Gemma had only recently attained battle mage status at university and begun journeying. Mum was a journeymage, too, but for the Mage Council. At 18, Harry’s specialty still hadn’t revealed itself to him, though Mum said that it could anywhere between the ages of 15 and 25. 

As a boy, he’d hoped for something flashy, something dangerous, possibly to become a battle mage like Mum. As an apprentice cook, he infused all of his food creations with well-wishes, trying to spread happiness throughout the palace, so that it would in turn affect the entire realm. No food that passed through a kitchen where he worked would ever spoil or hold poison. He no longer wanted flashy, or anything that would draw challengers, as some talents always do because of spell-theft, one of the worst things a mage could do to another person. 

_You’re too soft,_ so many of Gemma’s messages informed him over his months at the palace. _You’re just going to get hurt, Harry_. 

The suitors for Prince Louis would begin arriving at the start of spring, not too long after Harry’s 19th birthday. Once the whole thing started, he’d be released from his apprenticeship so that he’d have no other distractions. 

“Will it be some kind of competition?” he asked Louis. “Challenges?” 

Louis shrugged. “I don’t know, to be honest. It’s all Mum’s game, innit?” He kept reaching up to touch the small anchor hanging from his neck, and Harry tried not to smile too much. 

…

Because the safety of all the visitors must be assured, Louis’ mum ordered Mage Cowell to begin examining all of the magical protections on not only the palace but the entire capitol as well. Most of the court mages were sent out into the city while Mage Cowell himself focused on the palace. The process fascinated Louis (and Phoebe) but Mage Cowell swiftly tired of Bee’s questions and sent them both away to save his concentration. 

“Shall I return you to your lessons?” Louis asked Bee, pretending to stagger under her weight on his back. 

“No!” she said. “Can we go see Harry?” 

“I suppose, if Her Royal Highness Princess Phoebe so orders,” Louis said as poshly as he could, the way he spoke with dignitaries and ministers. She giggled into his hair, which Louis took as her so ordering him. He spun on his heel, marching smartly down the corridor as Bee tightened her grip on him. 

Harry was in the midst of a baking storm; Mum had commanded that delicacies from each of the visiting realms be prepared and then be stored at the peak of freshness by magical means. 

“Your Highnesses,” Barbara said, “we haven’t time for your antics today, or this week, actually.” She seemed far sadder than annoyed, and Harry caught Louis’ eye before waving at Phoebe. 

“Of course, of course,” Louis said. He hadn’t set Bee down yet, so he just nodded at Harry and turned. “Shall we go out into the gardens, Your Highness?” he asked. 

That perked her up. “Can we race, Lou?” 

“Only if we don’t get _too_ messy,” he said. 

Because he was distracted with Bee (covered in dirt and cackling), Louis didn’t notice Mage Jones, Mage Cowell’s most senior assistant, peering down at them from the nearest balcony. Even if he had, he wouldn’t have felt the magic cast toward him. 

Neither Louis nor Jones, who quickly ducked back into the palace, realized that the small charm around Louis’ neck glowed for just a moment, or that in the midst of a baking frenzy, an apprentice cook tilted his head to the side, listening to something no one else heard.


	2. The Suitors

Not long after Phoebe and Daisy’s ninth birthday and Mum’s fortieth, the first of the royal suitors arrived: Prince Liam of Payen, the youngest child of Queen Karen and Prince Consort Geoff, who would only inherit his mother’s throne if something happened to both of his older sisters. The younger sister, Ruth, had been on the list of potential queens for Louis, and if she was anything like her brother, Louis imagined their marriage would’ve been pretty miserable. 

Not that Prince Liam was horrid, or anything. Just. A bit of a bore, Louis thought, listening to him drone on about… something. He kept darting glances between Mum and Louis, thankfully ignoring or not noticing the way Lottie was gazing up at him adoringly from her spot across the table. He couldn’t even hope for a language barrier, as he’d been fluent in all of the continent’s native languages (from before the Joining, when the greatest minds had all come together to create a common tongue for everyone) since boyhood, as all royals were taught. 

After dinner, Louis escaped down to the servant quarters, where Harry was packing up his small room. “Where are you going?” Louis demanded, trying not to panic. 

Harry blinked at him. “Um. The guest wing?” he said. “Because Prince Liam has arrived and all.” 

“Oh, right.” Louis sagged against the door in relief. “Wonderful. What will you do with all that free time?” He’d noticed over the years that Harry liked to be kept busy with something. If Louis didn’t distract him, he’d just start straightening up whatever room they were in. 

“Catch up on sleep, I think,” Harry said. “I might ask the Steward if there’s anything that needs to be done.” 

“You will _not_ ,” Louis ordered. “You’re to be treated like all the guests, and that means—well.” He honestly had no idea what the suitors would all be doing, when not trying to impress him, though Mum and Mistress Cole the Steward had been planning for weeks. “Rest and relaxation, I suppose.” 

Harry laughed. “Not sure I remember what either of those is,” he confessed, closing the trunk. 

Louis watched him gather up a pile of books, stacking them on the trunk. “Is being a cook here better than being a farmer in Holmes Chapel?” He’d tried imagining, a few times, what Harry’s life must’ve been like, back home. He knew that Holmes Chapel was very small, part of the Grimshaw duchy, practically in the heart of the realm. Harry once described it as _quite picturesque_ , chuckling a little. All Louis knew was that the palace was frightfully boring for the fortnight Harry spent at home every half year.

“I miss my family,” Harry said, setting a stoppered inkpot beside the books. “But I never was much of a farmer.” 

.

The second arrival was Duke Walsh, the Head of Pallston’s Guild of Mages, and, apparently, close friends with Mage Cowell. According to Mum, he was by far the oldest of the suitors and one of the two suggested by Cowell. It was odd that he had the same forename as Louis, but easy to ignore. (It would surely get confusing, though, if Louis married someone else named Louis?) 

Louis greeted him graciously, of course, and attempted a conversation at the Welcome Feast but Duke Walsh was a poor conversationalist. 

Maybe that wasn’t fair, though, Louis thought, because he seemed to be able to speak with Mum fine. So as the dessert was served, he tried again, asking, “Duke Walsh, I heard a new spell was created recently?” 

“Yes,” Duke Walsh said, chuckling. “It’s to record music, so that instead of having musicians on hand, the music can just be played later.” 

“Really?” Louis demanded, sitting up straight in his chair. “That’s amazing!” 

“I’m glad you think so,” Duke Walsh said, looking far more pleasant now. “If you’d like, I can explain the process?” 

“Please do,” Louis said. It was a fascinating process, actually, that apparently took multiple specialists to complete, and Duke Walsh explained magic far better than Mage Cowell ever had. 

. 

The next two arrived on the same afternoon, as they’d traveled together: Lord Niall of Mullingar, second son of the Marquis of Mullingar (which was not too far from Harry’s village) and the nephew of Duke Grimshaw (which was _actually_ the duchy where Holmes Chapel was located). The duke’s nephew, Lord Nicholas Grimshaw, was entirely too tall for Louis’ liking but, as always, Louis was a gracious host to both of them, welcoming them into the palace. 

“You know, Prince Louis,” Lord Mullingar said after the first course, “I composed a song for you on the journey here.” 

“Please, just Louis,” he said. “And will you do me the honor of performing this song?” 

“Then just call me Niall,” _Niall_ said. “And I will be happy to perform after this delightful feast.” 

They discussed horses and music and history, and conversing with Niall was almost as fun and easy as conversing with Harry. Grimshaw eventually joined in, and he was amusing, too, and offered, as the servants cleared away the dessert course, “If you like, Highness, I can magic up a show to accompany the song.” 

“Really?” Louis asked. “You’re a mage, then?” 

Grimshaw nodded. “Nothing too grand but I’m a fair hand with illusions.” 

Louis smiled. “Well, if you impress me, Grimshaw, I might even think about letting you call me Louis.” 

Grimshaw grinned. “Hopefully, you’ll call me Nick.” 

.

Everyone from the feast was invited to Niall’s performance, and Louis honestly had no idea what to expect from it. Niall whispered something to Grimshaw, who laughed aloud, and that was a bit worrisome. 

“Hello, everyone,” Niall said loudly. He gestured to one of the men who’d accompanied him, and the man did _something_ with his hands that resulted in an instrument appearing out of thin air. It just floated there until Niall gently grasped it, pulling it to him. “Now, I’m sure most of you know that I’m the Marquis of Mullingar’s younger son.” He ran his fingers along the strings of the instrument. “What that means is that while Greg has been learnin’ how to run things, I’ve learnt to play music.” 

“What instrument is that?” Louis asked. It seemed similar to both the violin and the harp, and just as pleasing to the ear. 

“A guitar,” Niall said. “’s’amazing, innit?” He plucked at a few more strings. “They’ll be all the rage soon.” He grinned at Louis. “Now, I admit freely that I play far better than I sing, and I hope you like this song I wrote you, Highness.” He played for a few moments before nodding to Grimshaw, and the show began. 

.

By the end of the first verse, Louis was muffling his laughter in his hand; by the end of the second verse, he was tearing up from the effort of trying to control his laughter. Grimshaw’s illusions illustrated the lyrics and Louis had to admit he was a bit more than _a fair hand_ with it. Much better than Cowell. 

“Was that _actually_ about me?” Louis asked once the music faded and Niall was grinning, and he’d gotten control of his laughter. 

“Inspired by, more like,” Niall said. 

The rest of the audience (which included Prince Liam, Duke Walsh, Louis’ family, and most of the courtiers) seemed to be at a loss for what to do, until Louis said, “Can you play something else?” 

“O’course!” Niall said, bringing the guitar back up. “Grimshaw, you familiar with ‘The Broken-Hearted Lass’?” 

Grimshaw scoffed. “My great-grandda wrote the bloody thing! Of course I am.” 

Niall shook his head. “Like hell your great-grandda did! I’ll have you know that’s a Mullingar poem that _we_ set to music, you lout!” 

“Boys, boys!” Louis called out. “Settle down, yeah. My baby sisters are here.” 

Niall ducked his head while Grimshaw ran a hand through his hair, and then Grimshaw said, “Of course, Highness. Our apologies for the… unseemly display.” 

“‘The Broken-Hearted Lass,’” Prince Liam asked, stepping up beside Louis. “Is it similar to ‘When the Moon Fell’?” 

Niall and Grimshaw exchanged a glance. “’s’possible,” Grimshaw said.

Prince Liam smiled widely. “Would either of you mind if I sang along, then? Once I pick up the lyrics, I mean.” 

Niall shrugged, nodded to Grimshaw, and began to play. Once Prince Liam added his voice, he seemed like a completely different person, and Louis listened in awe. 

…

Harry didn’t attend the Welcome Feasts, though he could have, as one of the suitors himself. Louis kept telling him to, and sneaking into his room in the guest wing to discuss first Prince Liam, then Duke Walsh; the evening of Lord Mullingar and Lord Grimshaw’s feast, though, Harry followed the whisper of magic to one of the lesser halls, where some sort of show was happening. He smiled, watching Louis dance with the Princesses Phoebe and Daisy, and then looked past them to where two lords and a prince were performing. 

It ended with a bang, the illusions exploding into shards of light, in a display far more intricate than anything he’d seen from Mage Cowell in his three years at the palace. It wasn’t surprising, of course; his mum had explained that some mages had one true talent, which they mastered completely, while others were adequate in many forms of magic and true masters of none. 

“Which is better?” he’d asked, eight years old and wanting to be a master of everything. 

Mum had laughed. “No magic is better than any other, little love,” she’d said, ruffling his hair. “Mayhap you’ll be a healer, or maybe able to fly – in the end, it doesn’t matter. So long as you’re happy, Harry.” 

Watching Louis laugh with three of the suitors, Harry remembered how it felt, the first time he ever laid eyes on the prettiest boy in the world. Prince Liam reached out to clasp Louis’ shoulder, and Lord Mullingar doubled over in laughter, and Lord Grimshaw was grinning, and Harry thought, _I’m the only one he asked to do this._

It was all going to hurt in the end, so very much, but Harry’s charm was on a chain around Louis’ neck, so Harry held his head high and made his way through the crowd because _he_ was one of the ten suitors, too, and however it ended, he’d damn well do his best. 

“Harold!” Louis shouted, throwing an arm around his waist. “You weren’t at the feast _again_ , young sir, and that is just not on.” 

“Harold?” Lord Grimshaw repeated, eyeing Harry with interest. 

“Right, right,” Louis said. “Niall, Gri— _Nick_ , this is Harry Styles, part of your competition!” He giggled, leaning further into Harry. 

“Are you drunk?” Harry asked in concern. He’d seemed fine just moments before, dancing with his sisters. 

The magic, Harry realized, was still whispering on the air. He’d thought it to be just the illusions—but those had been Lord Grimshaw’s, and whatever this was, it differed. He _felt_ when the charm activated and Louis slumped against him. 

Harry held him up, about to shout for help, when Louis seemed to catch himself and pulled away slightly. He didn’t seem at all inebriated now, glancing up at Harry and then back over the crowd. Prince Liam and Lord Mullingar were deep in discussion about music but Lord Grimshaw was staring at Harry. 

Louis reached up to touch the charm. “I think I’m done in for the night,” he said, tone light and airy. “Nick, Niall, it was wonderful to meet you.” He nodded to Prince Liam and then squeezed Harry’s hip gently before unwrapping his arm. 

It had been a very long time since Harry felt angry. Not since a few of the village boys decided to torment the old mouser who liked to sun on Dad’s porch. He’d taught those boys a lesson they’d never forget, and earned himself a lecture from Mum about _appropriate reactions_ and _the misuse of magic_. 

“Harry Styles?” Lord Grimshaw said as Louis worked his way through the crowd, greeting courtiers with smiles, cheerful and bright. “I’m unfamiliar with the name.” 

“My dad has a farm in your family’s duchy,” Harry said without looking away from Louis’ progress. He chatted with his sisters, and then his mum, and then he left the hall. 

“You’re a commoner?” Lord Grimshaw asked, loudly enough to catch Lord Mullingar and Prince Liam’s attention. “And you’re here to earn the prince’s hand?” 

Harry needed to send a message to Mum, to Robin. Twice, his protection charm had warded off mind-magicks—and this time, it nearly wasn’t enough. 

But first, he needed to regain control. Anger would help no one, especially the kind thrumming through him, that wanted to rend and tear, so unlike his usual magic. So he closed his eyes, slowly exhaled, opened his eyes, and told two lords and a prince, “Please excuse me.” He took the back way out of the hall, one of the myriad of servants’ passages Louis had shown him, and then rushed to the tallest tower, taking the stairs three at a time to the very top. 

Someone tried mind-magicking Louis. Harry took a slow breath, and another, trying to breathe out the anger. 

Did they already have Queen Johannah? Is that why the whole marriage business began in the first place? 

_Don’t react with your magic_ , Mum told him and Gemma time after time. _Never let it control you._ Gemma used to explode things, used to cause storms. Harry’s magic had never been like that. He never did things accidentally. 

One of the local owls landed on the windowsill, gazing at Harry, pale feathers glinting in the moonlight. “Hullo,” Harry said after a moment. “I need word sent to Mum, if you don’t mind, Lady Owl.” 

The owl twisted her neck to look back over the palace before returning her unblinking gaze to Harry. 

“Thank you,” Harry said. “Someone’s trying to use the mind-arts on the royal family. As I’m not even an apprentice mage anymore, Mum or Gemma or somebody we trust needs to get here soonest.” 

The owl waited another moment before taking wing. Harry breathed in, breathed out, breathed in, and then breathed out the last bits of rage. 

Back when Harry had lessons on the different magical arts, all of the tutors exclaimed over Gemma’s raw power. She had a lot of excess magic, way beyond what a child could control. It was dangerous, everyone said. Harry had been too young to remember now but Mum loved telling the stories of all of Gemma’s mishaps. Disaster had been averted only because Mum was so powerful herself. 

That Gemma became a battle mage surprised no one. 

Harry had been different. There had been no art he felt drawn to, nothing he truly excelled at. But he seemed to make people happy just by being around them, lightened the mood, had people smiling. According to Mum, he’d been a cheerful baby. He was good at everything he tried without a true talent that called to him. Most of Mum’s friends had decided he must be a hedgewitch because he didn’t seem to have enough magic to be a journeymage, and no true ambition for it, either, whatever he’d imagined as a boy. 

To be honest, though he’d longed for something grand like Mum or Gemma’s power, in his heart of hearts, he’d always liked the thought of settling down somewhere. His magic always felt quiet, gentle—it didn’t lash out like Gemma’s, like Mum said hers did when she was young. He’d wanted something dangerous, the wild magic of legend, but as he grew, his magic settled. After beginning his apprenticeship in the palace, he thought being a hedgewitch sounded nice. Nothing so grand as a battle mage, as even a journeymage, but helping people, knowing a place until it sank into his bones… 

Standing in the highest tower of the Pallston palace, watching the owl until she faded from sight, Harry felt his magic stirring as it never had in 19 years. He waited a moment more and then he slowly went down the stairs, listing in his mind anyone who would dare try ensorcelling a prince. Once back in the palace proper, he made his way to Louis’ room. 

.

Louis was still awake, one of the smaller lamps lit, but he said nothing as Harry slipped through the door. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in Louis’ private quarters, though it very well may be the last. “D’you like them?” he asked, simply for something to say, settling carefully on the edge of the bed. “The suitors, I mean. Four of them here now—everything’s started.”

“Five of them,” Louis replied, sitting up, the blanket sliding down him to reveal his sleep-shirt, the collar loose enough that Harry could see the chain around his neck. “You’re one of them, Harold.”

“Because you asked,” Harry said. 

Louis nodded slowly, without looking away from Harry’s gaze. “Does that mean anythin’?”

Harry’s words deserted him and he dug his fingers into the luxurious comforter. 

“You’re my favorite person,” Louis said softly. “I used to make up stories about you, back in the marketplace. And then you were in the kitchens, and so perfectly lovely.”

“Louis,” Harry murmured. “I…” He tore his gaze away. 

Louis said, “I never thought about it until Mum began this wedding madness. I dreamed—but I ignored it. You were simply a mate, but different from the lads.” He laughed. “I shoulda realized, yeah?”

Harry wanted to touch him. “I,” he tried again. “I dreamed, Louis. But never did I dare hope…”

“Look at me, Harry Styles,” Louis said, perhaps the gentlest order Harry had ever heard. “Please look at me.” 

What could Harry do but obey? 

…

Louis knew the feel of magic trying to sink in and exert someone else’s will. The Court Mage before Cowell, a plump old woman Louis barely remembered, had seen to his training in how to defend against the mind-arts. Louis had no innate talent for it, and when Cowell came to court, he had more important things to do than try teaching a useless student. 

Someone tried magicking Louis tonight. He’d been dancing with his sisters, and then he’d felt loose and relaxed, as though he’d drunk well past his limit, and there was a _presence_ —and then there was Harry’s arm around him, with the briefest and warmest touch on his chest, over his heart, where the anchor charm rested against his skin. 

Someone tried magicking Louis and his first ever courting gift, from an apprentice cook and son of a farmer, warded it off. 

In the midst of a crowd was not where Louis wanted to work through what it must mean—not just the magic, but also how he’d begun to realize he’d always felt for the boy from the marketplace, the apprentice cook, the best and greatest friend Louis had ever had. 

Perhaps he should’ve raised an alarm, told Mum—but a magical attack should’ve been impossible, surely, in the heart of the palace, under ancient protections that had been recently strengthened by Mage Cowell? 

So he retired to his room, and there pulled on his sleep-clothes, curled up in his bed, with a single lamp lit, examined everything he knew about Harry Styles, Apprentice Cook. 

He did not remove the charm. He did not even consider it. 

As Harry slipped into his room, Louis knew what that meant. 

.

 _Because you asked,_ Harry had said, and that was the truth, wasn’t it? Harry was always there, requesting nothing but Louis’ laughter, Louis’ attention. He went along with the maddest ideas, was amazing with Louis’ sisters, with the servants’ children sometimes underfoot, brought treats for the palace dogs and horses. He made terrible days better, made boring days fun. 

And Louis had thought him simply a good friend because the thought of more was terrifying.

“You’re my favorite person,” Louis told him again, meeting his gaze though he wanted to duck away, scrambling for words that could not truly encompass what he meant. But they flowed out, confessions of things he’d refused to consider with any seriousness for months. “I used to make up stories about you, back in the marketplace. And then you were in the kitchens, and so perfectly lovely.”

“Louis,” Harry murmured when he paused. “I…” But he looked away, and Louis wanted to reach out, pull him close. 

Instead, he admitted, “I never thought about it until Mum began this wedding madness. I dreamed – but I ignored it. You were simply a mate, but different from the lads.” He had to laugh, because of hindsight’s cruelty. “I shoulda realized, yeah?” 

He’d tumbled with women, but never dared let his gaze linger on men. It was the maddest thing of all that Mum engineered a marriage between men, the first in all Pallston. Terrifying. 

Perhaps exhilarating, because Harry said, still gazing down at his hands, “I dreamed, Louis. But never did I dare hope…”

“Look at me, Harry Styles,” Louis said, heart in his throat. “Please look at me.” 

_I just want to marry for love,_ Louis told him, mere months ago. He wondered now, watching Harry slowly lift his gaze, how many people had realized it before he did. 

“You gave me my first courting gift,” Louis said, smiling at the memory. “You’re courting me because I asked you to. Please tell me, Harry Styles—do you _want_ to court me?” 

Harry’s gaze dropped to where the anchor hung over Louis’ heart. “I have loved you since I was sixteen,” he murmured. “Maybe since I was twelve, watching a boy steal sweets in a marketplace.” 

Louis held out a hand. Harry took it. 

…

That night, Harry told Louis about the magic. About Robin’s warning, about the previous attempt the charm warded away. About how strong the power being brought to bear on Louis must be, since the charm struggled so much the second time. 

“What does it mean?” Louis asked, one hand tangled in Harry’s curls and the other wrapped around the anchor. 

“It means that I don’t trust anyone in this palace capable of magic,” Harry answered honestly. He slowly reached to cover Louis’ hand on the charm. “I’m also going to ward it again.” 

Louis looked up at him, leaning in a little. “Can I watch?” he asked. “It’s just… fascinatin’, innit? Magic and all.” 

Harry blushed, ducking his head a little bit. “My magic’s always been boring,” he said. “Compared to Mum and Gemma. I’m more of a hedgewitch than anything, I think.” 

“Harold,” Louis said sharply. “You’re not boring at all. Nothing about you is.” 

Harry’s blush deepened and Louis’ hand slid from his hair to his cheek, turning his face so that he could see the eyebrow Louis raised. “I am the Crown Prince of Pallston,” he said. “What I say is law, and therefore, I say that Harry Styles, with or without magic, is the most interesting person I have ever met.” He paused, waiting, so Harry murmured along with him, “So mote it be.” 

“Good,” Louis said. “Now, Cowell’s on the list, yeah?” 

Harry nodded. “Walsh, too, if only because Cowell suggested him.” He nudged the hand Louis still had on his face and Louis grinned, bringing it back up to Harry’s hair, tugging slightly on the curls. Harry yawned, letting himself slump over slightly, as he added, “All of Cowell’s mages, as well.” 

“That’s a dozen people,” Louis said, sliding over on the bed so that Harry could slip under the comforter. 

“Are you sure I should stay?” Harry asked even as he moved in as close as he could. 

“I’d marry you tomorrow, Harry,” Louis said, and Harry’s breath caught, staring at him. 

“I’ve wanted,” Harry began, “for… ever, it’s felt like. But I didn’t just want to be a tumble. Didn’t want to have, and then not have. Since this marriage business started, I’ve known I’d hurt at the end.” 

“And you still agreed,” Louis said softly. “You utterly stupid boy.” He turned onto his side so that he could pull Harry back against him. “We’ll plan in the morning,” he said. “Rest now, Harry. I’ve got you.” 

The lamp was still flickering, sending oddly shaped shadows against the wall, and Harry didn’t want to see portents in them so he snuffed out the candle with a thought. Louis pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, arms tight around him, the charm a spot of warmth between them. 

Compared to Mum and Gemma, Harry had never thought his magic could be dangerous. He’d never had the makings of a battle mage, never destroyed things on accident in the midst of a tantrum, never caused storms with his emotions. 

For the first time, listening to Louis breathe in the darkness, Harry truly understood Mum’s caution about letting emotions control the magic.

“Sleep, Harold,” Louis muttered. “Can hear you thinkin’.” 

Harry grabbed for Louis’ nearest hand, pulling it up to his chest, and tried not to worry about anything—he never could sleep if he was worrying. 

It must’ve worked, because he woke to Louis trying to pull his hand away. 

…

Louis woke to Harry’s curls in his mouth and tried rolling away, but Harry held fast to his hand. Harry woke moments later, blinking up at Louis with a sleepy smile. 

“I like this dream,” Harry said, trying to pull Louis back down. 

“’s’not a dream,” Louis said, dodging him and then leaning down to kiss his nose. “We’ve planning to do so hop to.” 

“Don’t wanna,” Harry whined, burying his face in the pillow. 

“Harry,” Louis said sharply, waiting until Harry peeked at him with one eye. “Will they go after me mum and sisters?” 

Harry sighed heavily, releasing Louis’ hand and sitting up. He wiped at his eyes and stretched out his arms, obviously searching for words, which told Louis everything he needed to know. 

After a few moments of silence, Harry said, “They probably already have the queen. If the plot or whatever is about getting to the throne, then marrying the reigning monarch or the heir is the quickest way.” 

“And if it’s a long game,” Louis finished, “then marrying the heir is the best way.” He rubbed at his forehead then just let his head rest in his hand. “And the girls?” he murmured. 

“They should be safe, until the mage realizes you haven’t been ensnared,” Harry said softly. “I’ll make them charms like yours today, Louis. What shape would be best?” 

“A bird,” Louis answered. “Make five of them, I’ll wear one, too. Tell the girls it’s a sibling thing, yeah?” Harry reached out to gently grip the anchor as Louis continued, “I’ll play along with the marriage thing, since so many realms are involved now.” He chuckled, “Don’t want a diplomatic incident, after all. A war on top of this magic plot is the last we thing we need.” 

The charm lit up in Harry’s hand so Louis glanced down. His skin felt heated, like when he stepped into the sun after being indoors for hours, and he sighed at the sensation as it spread, going deeper, until it seemed his whole body was afire—except, it was the gentlest warmth he’d ever known and he could just stay in it all day. 

“What was that?” he asked when he could manage words again, opening eyes he didn’t realize he’d closed, to see Harry gaping at him. 

“Um,” Harry said. “I didn’t—I just thought I was making it stronger!” 

He was still holding the anchor and Louis reached up to grip his wrist, asking, “What did you do instead?” 

“Um,” Harry repeated. “I think I, uh, that is…” He trailed off, looking at Louis’ fingers around his wrist. “Well, I think no ill-intended magic at all will work on you now? It was the oddest thing, Louis...” 

“Harold,” Louis snapped, using his free hand to raise Harry’s chin, trying to put on his most-intimidating royal court glare. 

“I wanted you protected,” Harry said. “And my magic worked my will.” He blinked once, twice, before smiling so wide it surely must hurt. “Oh, wow, I think I know my talent, Lou!” 

“Well, out with it,” Louis demanded, unwrapping his fingers from Harry’s wrist and reaching up with both hands to gently shake Harry by the shoulders. 

“Defense,” Harry said. “Like, Gemma’s magic is offensive, explosive and raw, yeah? It’s taken her _years_ to hone it. Mum’s was like that, too.” He was bouncing in place, practically lit up, and the most gorgeous person Louis had ever seen. “And, and Robin, he’s just got the one thing, Foresight, but with enough of a wellspring to ward small charms. ‘s’why I had to strengthen the charm before I gave it to you.” 

Louis tugged him in, trying to still him. “ _How_ is your magic different?” he asked, because while all of the asides were interesting and he’d usually listen in complete fascination, his sisters might be in danger. 

“My magic has always been settled,” Harry answered. “Like, _there_ but it never did anything extraordinary like Gemma. A small pond compared to Mum and Gemma’s ocean.” He reached up to cradle the charm in his palm again. “Mum and Gemma, like all battle mages, their magic cloaks them so much it’s obvious, even to the least-magical person in the world. They’re _of_ fensive. My magic, it’s…” He shrugged, flicking his free hand. 

“Defensive,” Louis echoed. “But what does that _mean_? I’ve no understanding of magic, Harry.” 

Harry smiled again, slow and sweet. “I can feel it like I never have, Lou.” That nickname again, that Harry hadn’t used before this morning. Louis really liked the sound of it rolling off Harry’s tongue. “Because I’ve never needed to, before. My entire life, I’ve been my mum’s son, safe because of her power. No need of protection.” He pressed his palm to Louis’ chest, the charm caught between their skin. “But there’s danger now. You, your sisters, your mum… Pallston, probably.” 

“You sound somewhat excited about that,” Louis noted, because he just had to wonder why he felt no apprehension, no fear. Someone tried to magick him yesterday, after all. But here, with Harry—he’d never felt safer.

“I’m not excited,” Harry said. “But I’m not afraid, either. I’ve sent word to Mum, but Louis, you don’t understand.” He laughed again, softly. “I’ve always thought I was just a small pond compared to Gemma’s ocean. But our magic’s just different, and what I have…” He leaned in to gently press their lips together, and Louis felt that warmth again, all the way in his bones. 

“You make me strong,” Harry whispered. “And nothing in all of Pallston can hurt you now.” 

Louis shivered before pulling him in for another kiss. 

…

Harry’s magic felt like a storm, swirling around him for the very first time in his life. He was amazed that none of the court mages could feel it, as he hurried from the palace down to the city. He’d left Louis to prepare for the day (two more suitors were to be arriving) while he had to create five more protection charms. He had enough supplies for the rites but needed the perfect object to anchor the magic to, and he knew the exact shop to visit. Mistress Scherzinger had been one of the first friends he’d made in the capitol, a craftswoman who didn’t mind giving Harry scraps of material. She and her apprentice Eleanor were the only ones who knew of his magic, though neither understood why he hadn’t announced it when he first went to work at the palace. (Neither did he, to be honest. The time had just never been right—and then too much time had passed.)

“Harry!” Eleanor said. “Welcome. It’s been a few weeks, hasn’t it?” 

“Yes, it’s been very hectic, what with all the feasts,” he replied. “Hullo, Eleanor.” He waved at her, glancing around at the various pieces of jewelry dangling on chains. “Do you have a set of five identical birds?” 

“Not exactly,” she said, moving towards the southern window. “I have a set of three, earrings and a broach, and then a set of ten, which is five pairs of earrings.” She gently took down the set of three. “None of them are completely identical but they are beautiful, aren’t they?” 

The set of three were golden stylized birds in flight. Harry tested them with his magic to find that another mage had already charmed them to reveal poison. 

“What about the earring set?” he asked. 

Eleanor nodded, replacing the golden birds and turning to a small display. “They’re more plain,” she said. “Just differently shaped birds. They’re more like costume jewelry, for commoners.” She took the first pair down, handing it to Harry. “Mistress Scherzinger said they probably won’t sell but she loves them.” 

Harry smiled down at what was obviously a pair of swallows. “I’ll take them all.” 

“To magic or to give to a sweetheart?” Eleanor asked as she brought the four remaining pairs to the counter. 

“Both,” Harry said, placing the fifth pair with the rest. “Can you put a hole at the top of each, or affix some sort of ring? I’d like to string them all as necklaces or bracelets, I’m not quite sure yet.” 

“Of course,” she said. “I’ll have to charge you a little extra, though.”

“That’ll be fine.” Harry looked towards the displays of fine jewels while Eleanor went into the back of the shop. He reached out to gently stroke the anti-theft wards, which, as always, were unusually strong. Whichever mage Mistress Scherzinger contracted was very gifted with protections. 

“Do you know the name of the warder?” Harry asked as Eleanor re-entered the shop front. “I’ve questions of a magical nature.” 

“I don’t, sorry,” she answered. “Isn’t there a mage-mark or something?” She wrapped the birds in cloth while Harry touched the wards again. 

“Not exactly,” he murmured. There was _something_ but so faint it barely registered. He could follow it back to the mage—except that might offend whoever it was, or be seen as a threat. Definitely rude, since he was mostly curious instead of in need. “Can you ask Mistress Scherzinger to ask the mage to contact me? Magically or by note, it matters not.” 

“Of course,” she said. “Apprentice Harry Styles at the palace?” He nodded, taking the offered package. “Thirty-five pallastones for the earrings, five for the adjustments, so forty total, please.” 

He set the package down before pulling out his coinpurse. “I have a silver,” he said. “Will that work?” 

Eleanor’s eyes widened. “I won’t have enough pallastones for change, not ’til the end of the week when Mistress Scherzinger returns from her travels.” 

He shrugged before a thought occurred, so he asked, “Would adding the set of three make the difference?”

“Yes, it should. With those,” she added, sounding relieved as she hurried around the counter to fetch them, “the total is two silvers, even. Shall I adjust them, too?” 

“No, thank you,” he replied. Gemma would surely enjoy them, even though they were utterly useless for his project.

Eleanor swiftly wrapped the gold earrings and broach, while Harry stacked the two silvers on the counter. 

“Here you go,” she said once all the parcels were in the small bag. “And I’ll give your message to Mistress Scherzinger.” 

“Have a good day, Eleanor,” he said as he stepped out into the market, her, “Goodbye!” following him. 

.

Now that he knew his talent, Harry realized that protection charms had always come easy to him. Protection runes and charms were one of the simplest forms of magic—even the weakest hedgewitch could lay down a protection ward. Of course, the potency and the resilience of the ward varied; Robin's wards lasted maybe a week, while Mum's lasted for months or even years, like Gemma's—but, of course, the intricacies of the wards varied, too. What if a mage just wanted to keep vermin out of a granary but needed to allow workers in? One of Harry’s theory tutors had explained that while raw power might protect a city from a hurricane, it would also keep out needed rain.

As he walked through the marketplace, Harry wondered how long his wards would protect what he wanted to protect. During his last trip home, he’d noticed that his favorite childhood toy had still been infused with a charm he laid down as a boy without a single hint of time passing. He’d laid the charm just weeks, maybe three, before that fateful visit with Mum, the first time he saw Louis. Seven years ago, now. He hadn’t thought anything of it, when he pulled the bear out of the old trunk. He figured he had the raw strength for long-lasting wards, but now he wanted to begin designing cascading wards, too, something intricate, something that seemed so weak enemy mages wouldn’t even realize they were caught. 

He wandered through the market, suspiciously noting every new mage he passed. Some were part of the suitors’ retinues of course, and some were probably journeymages on legitimate business, and some had moved to the capitol for work or to settle in as hedgewitches. But some were probably conspirators in whatever plot focused on the monarchs. On Louis. 

Not for the first time, Harry was glad his magic didn’t lash out like Gemma’s. 

“Harry!” one the blacksmiths called. “Here for scraps?” 

“Not today, Mr. Smythe,” Harry answered, stopping by his small workshop. “Not unless you have something good in?” 

“Sorry, lad, I haven’t,” Mr. Smythe said. “I saw Roger earlier; he wanted me to tell you that he used every piece this week, so he’s got nothin’ for you either.” 

“I’ll make do,” Harry said. “My best wishes to your wife and the boys.” 

“And to you,” Mr. Smythe said with a nod. “On with you then, lad, some of us respectable folk have work that needs doin’.” 

Harry laughed, turning sharply on his heel. He didn’t waste any more time in the market – the longer the princesses went without wards, the antsier he felt. 

.

Everyone was busy setting up for the Welcome Feast for Prince Aiden of Gryn and Edward Sheeran, the minstrel famous from one side of the continent to the other. Harry had heard dozens of rumors about different nobles and royals offering him priceless gifts, hoping to keep him but by all accounts Mr. Sheeran loved traveling. Out of all the competition (if there was any, after last night, Harry thought, unable to keep from giggling), Mr. Sheeran was the least-likely, if only because Harry didn’t imagine he’d want to be tied down to one city, and would the Prince Consort be allowed to travel at will to any realm? Most likely not. 

Were it any other afternoon, Harry would offer his help in the kitchens or in the hall chosen for the night’s feast. 

Instead, he was in his temporary quarters, spreading out the five chosen birds. After a moment’s consideration, he placed a sixth, because though he couldn’t give it to Queen Johannah immediately, once the spell was lifted from her, he would. 

Because he didn’t know the mage who had handled the materials before him, he first cleansed each bird individually, stripping them of all latent magic and the small ward against tarnishing. After, he took his time with each, anchoring the protection against _all_ ill-intended magicks, whatever branch of the arts. From his lessons on protection rites, he remembered that most wards were good against only one or two branches at a time, that they wore out quickly. 

But he focused carefully on each bird, pouring his desire to keep the wearer _safe_ , that nothing of ill-intent could touch them, whether on the surface or below it. No magical shoves down stairs, no poison against the skin or through ingestion, no twisting of the mind, no summoning—Harry couldn’t even imagine all the ways that existed of attacking someone with magic, but so long as the princesses wore the bird charms, none of them would succeed. 

Well, unless the mage overwhelmed the charm with a barrage of magick so powerful it could destroy an entire city, but Mum had told Harry that very few mages were that powerful, and the Council kept track of them. When she arrived, he’d ask if any of them were known to be in Pallston. 

Once the birds were finished with his magic settled in them, he tucked them into one of his pockets and pulled a dozen different strands of jewelry chains from his box of random things. He didn’t know if the princesses would prefer bracelets or necklaces (though he thought a necklace would be better), so he put the chains in a different pocket and went to find Louis. 

Instead of feeling shaky or tired after expending so much magic, he felt invigorated. Mum had cautioned that using too much at a time led to exhaustion, and he’d seen it happen to Gemma. He wondered if that was one of the differences between offensive and defensive magic. 

.

Louis was in one of the lesser libraries, helping his youngest sisters with their history lesson. 

“I learned that differently,” Harry said, interrupting Louis’ recitation of the Winter Rebellion, when Pallston, Payen, and Malka all overthrew Festano. 

Louis grinned up at him while Princess Daisy said, “Louis! We can’t learn this _wrong_.” 

“I’m just makin’ it a bit more excitin’, is all,” he said. “But as the expert has arrived, I’ll defer to him.” His grin softened into a sweet smile. “Join us, Harold? Tell us what _really_ happened all those centuries ago.” 

“I’m no expert,” Harry said, settling beside Princess Daisy at the small table. “But I do know that Louis I of Pallston had been nearly executed by Emperor Felix because of his threats of rebellion due to the terrible taxation that left Pallston crippled.” Princess Phoebe frowned, glancing up at Louis, as Harry continued, “It was only King Louis’ magical ability that allowed him to escape and return home—do you know what it was, Princess Phoebe?” 

“He could move himself places,” she said. 

Harry nodded. “Different cultures call it different things,” he told her, then included Princess Daisy by asking, “Do you know what it’s called in Pallston?” She shook her head so he said, “According to my mum, who is a journeymage for the Mage Council, here the mages with that talent simply call it _traveling_. Some are more powerful than others and can travel from one end of a realm to the other in the blink of an eye.” He’d never met a mage with the talent as it was one of the rarer ones. “King Louis traveled from the cell in Festano to Queen Aadila of Malka’s throne room.” 

“That must’ve been a shock for both of them,” Louis chuckled. 

“I’m sure it was,” Harry agreed. “But somehow they decided to join forces, and persuaded King William of Payen to help.” 

“But why is it called the _Winter_ Rebellion?” Princess Daisy demanded. She had a small notebook in front of her, dotted with inkblots, with illegible (to Harry, anyway) scribblings across the page. 

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “I’m sure there are historians who do. But King Louis escaped as the year turned, so it might have somethin’ to do with that.” 

Princess Daisy harrumphed and Harry had to press his lips together to keep from smiling. Louis didn’t bother. 

“Why don’t we have magic if our grandfather did?” Princess Phoebe asked. 

“I don’t know that either,” Harry answered easily, without hesitation. “It might’ve been that the magical talent was so small in your bloodline it needed two mages to pass it on, or perhaps you’re not direct descendants of him.” He shrugged. “It’s been nearly a thousand years, Highness.” 

Louis narrowed his eyes, tilting his head. Harry glanced from Princess Daisy to Princess Phoebe before meeting Louis’ gaze, raising a brow. “I think that’s enough of a history lesson, girls,” Louis said. “Harry and I have business to attend to.” 

…

“You lied to them,” Louis said once they were in the safety of Harry’s quarters. “What didn’t you say, Harry?” He wasn’t angry, not truly; after all, he’d lied to not only his sisters but his own mum more than once. But as Harry had lied about _magic_ , what with everything… 

“There are stories,” Harry said after a moment, soft and hesitant, slumped on the edge of the bed. “There has been no mage in the royal family since Gregor.” 

“The grandson of Louis I,” Louis said when Harry paused. “Yes, I know my own lineage. Just spit it out.” 

“Gemma told me.” Harry fidgeted with something in his pocket, determinedly not looking at Louis even when he reached out to still Harry’s hand. “She learned from her tutor at university, and it’s forbidden knowledge, something the tutor was punished for sharing. Gemma wasn’t even supposed to tell me, Lou, it’s worse than _spell-theft_.” 

“Gregor the Mad, he’s called.” Louis waited but Harry didn’t look up. “We learn of the Winter Rebellion, of our lasting treaties with Malka and Payen, of how Festano once stretched from sea to sea and that Pallston carved itself from the mountains.” Some of the lessons were more interesting than others. “Harold. Why was Gregor the last mage of my bloodline?” 

As a boy, Louis had wished for magic. He’d been fascinated with King Louis I, the first of his name, the man who saved Pallston because he’d been a mage. But Louis grew and focused on his actual talents, though he waited to see if any of his sisters would be the longed-for return of magic to Pallston’s royalty. Every child was tested, even the illegitimates who were never truly acknowledged. Had any bastard of the family been a mage, Louis realized when he was old enough to understand his own origins, they would have been welcomed and recognized. 

“There is a ritual,” Harry murmured to the floor. “Spell-theft is… obscene, Highness. Profane. It offends the very fabric of being.” Spell-theft, of course, was in the Five Forbidden, the very worst things a mage could do. The punishment for all of them was death, delivered by the Mage Council, possibly at the hand of the ArchMage themself. “I’m not sure it has a name, or maybe the name’s been lost over the years.” He laughed, a little darkly. “The details of the ritual have been, thankfully. Spell-theft can steal a mage’s magic—you know that, of course. But the magic comes back, y’see. After days or weeks, or even months, the magic comes back.” He ran a hand through his hair, pulling on it a little. “If the mage survives, of course,” he sighed heavily. 

“Just _tell_ me,” Louis said. 

“Gregor—I don’t know for sure, Louis, if he did it. Maybe the line was cursed by someone else, maybe the gods—” He looked up to meet Louis’ gaze. “Or maybe Gregor completed the ritual that summoned all magic that would ever flow in the blood of his descendants and burnt it up, trying to infuse himself with divinity.” 

“He did _what_?” Louis demanded, sitting up straight. “That, that’s spell-theft beyond _all_ spell-theft.” 

Harry nodded. “I have to believe that the ArchMage destroyed him, Louis, or the gods themselves smote him down. He had sisters, and either they or one of their children took Pallston.” 

“And no more mages,” Louis said. “Not for nearly a thousand years.” 

Nodding again, Harry reached out to him. “It’s the worst thing I’ve heard done with magic,” he said, trying to curl up in Louis’ arms. 

Perhaps because he’d never known magic of his own, Louis could think of worse things. But it might also be that Harry had never attended Louis’ lessons, had never felt the terror of realizing that one day, an entire realm would depend on him. 

“It was long ago,” he said, trying to comfort Harry, who shuddered in his grip. “What’s done is done.” 

“I thought it better to lie to them,” Harry confessed. “I wish that Gemma had never told me.” 

Hoping to turn the conversation to better things, Louis asked, “Do you know who the current ArchMage is?” 

Harry scoffed, “Of course not, Louis,” as he pulled back slightly. “Only the Council ever knows.” 

“But your mum works for the Council, doesn’t she?” Louis said, reaching up to wipe away the tear tracks on Harry’s cheeks. 

“She’s a _journeymage_ ,” Harry said. “I know that she’s met one of the Council, a nice lady from Festano with a talent in transmutation. But she doesn’t talk about her duties that much,” he shrugged. 

Glad the mood had lightened, Louis asked, “D’you have the charms for the girls?” 

“Oh, yes!” Harry beamed at him, slipping off the bed so he could pull what looked like birds out of his pocket. “I wasn’t sure if they’d want necklaces or bracelets,” he said, holding the birds in his hand. “They’re a bit simple for royalty, I know,” he admitted, suddenly looking a bit embarrassed. “But they’re so sweet, aren’t they?” 

“They’re perfect,” Louis assured him, leaning in for a closer look. “They’re all slightly different, yeah?” How delightful. The girls would definitely enjoy that. “I like this one the most,” he said, carefully picking up a fat bird whose wings were curled around its back, the longest feathers crossing. 

He reached up to unclasp his necklace but Harry said, “No!” so he paused until Harry said sheepishly, “I meant, um. Let me.” Louis smiled, lowering his arm and turning slightly, tilting his head to give Harry access. 

Harry set the birds on his small table and stepped close to Louis, slightly behind him. His fingers trailed up from Louis’ collarbone to the back of his neck, where the chain was clasped, and Louis tried not to shiver at the sensation. His tumbles with the women had always been rushed, save for his eighteenth birthday, and though she’d touched him, it hadn’t been like this. Even after he’d unclasped the chain (and Louis caught it, as it slid down his chest), Harry kept touching him, leaning in so that he brushed against Louis’ back. His hand cupped the back of Louis’ head, fingers brushing through Louis’ hair, and Louis tilted his head so that he could see Harry’s face. 

Reverently, he realized, as Harry leaned in slowly. That was how Harry touched him. 

That was how he wanted to touch Harry. 

But not yet. The charms—he needed to give them to his sisters as soon as possible, so though he wanted to kiss Harry until sunset, wanted to touch and taste every inch of him, he pulled away once he’d run out of air, and gently pushed Harry back when he ducked down for more. 

“The charms, Harold,” Louis said, catching his breath. 

“Of course,” Harry said after a moment, sounding as gone as Louis felt. “Of course.” He took a full two steps back, not looking at Louis at all. 

Louis focused on the necklace in his hand and carefully strung the small bird next to the anchor. They both looked so simplistic, compared to the exquisite pieces in his inheritance that filled the palace. He loved them all the more for it. 

“Can I trust you to clasp this back?” he asked, a gentle tease that he hoped Harry understood.

“Of course,” Harry said, finally turning to look at him again. He deftly redid the clasp and returned to the table, where each of the remaining birds had been separated. 

“There are still five here,” Louis noted, reaching up to stroke the bird hanging from his neck. 

“One for your mum,” Harry said. “Not yet, but once her mind’s been cleared.” 

Louis had to kiss him for that, so he grabbed Harry’s hand and lifted it to his mouth, gently pressed his lips to each of Harry’s knuckles. He kept holding the hand even as he looked down at the birds. “That one,” he said, nudging at Harry’s side and using his free hand to tap the one he meant. It was the plumpest, happiest of the remaining charms. “A necklace, I think. A short chain, so it won’t interfere with any of the elaborate pieces she wears for Court.” 

“Okay,” Harry said. He set it to the side and then reached into his pocket to pull out small chains of various sizes. “I think necklaces would be best for all of them – more stable, I mean.” He set the chains on the table and began pulling them apart. “They need to be worn constantly, Lou. Never removed.” 

“Not even for bathing?” Louis asked, mostly just to take the piss. He hadn’t taken the anchor off once in the months since Harry gave it to him. He’d expected his sisters or Mum to comment on it, but no one ever did. “You magicked it to be invisible, didn’t you?” he asked now. 

Harry nodded. “We see it because we know it’s there. The chain’s unbreakable, and it should weather everything without being bothered.” He slipped the first bird onto a chain. 

“If you don’t want the girls knowin’ about your magic, I can say I had ‘em made,” Louis said. “’s’a sibling thing, yeah?” Louis had to drag his eyes away from Harry’s fingers, deftly stringing each charm. 

Shrugging, Harry said, “It’s just… I’ve worked here for three years, Louis, and never told anyone I’m a mage. That’s…” he sighed. “I don’t know, could I get in trouble for it?” 

Louis scoffed. “Wouldn’t that be the court mages’ fault, for none of them realizin’ it?” 

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t that just get me in more trouble, then? It’d be a mark on their honor or somethin’.” 

“Perhaps,” he acknowledged. Knowing Mage Cowell—most definitely. Harry held out four of the charms. “Prince Aiden and the minstrel should be here soon,” Louis said, taking the birds. “I’ll get these to the girls and then I have to begin preparin’.” 

“Of course,” Harry said. His gaze went from Louis’ eyes to his mouth, and Louis smiled, stepping in close to look up at Harry through his eyelashes. He’d teased before, as much as he dared, heart in his throat and blood singing—and now, _now_ he could taste at will, couldn’t he? Harry, after all, was courting him, and everyone knew it. (Oh, no one believed Harry would become the Prince Consort, but Louis knew there was no other choice he could make.) 

“Harold,” he murmured, “don’t we both have things that need doin’?” 

“We do,” Harry agreed, but the blasted idiot didn’t move at all. Just looked at Louis’ mouth and licked his own dratted lips, like he expected Louis to do all the work himself. 

Well, that called for some sort of punishment, did it not? Harry had dared to grow taller than Louis over the last year, so Louis rose up on his toes to press a kiss to Harry’s lips, and as Harry surged forward to deepen it, Louis spun away, laughing, and hurried out the door. 

“Lou!” Harry shouted after him but Louis had necklaces to deliver so he just snickered as he left the guest wing. 

.

It was midafternoon, so Louis knew that his sisters had retired to Lottie’s private quarters for a tea break. They’d have a small maths lesson after, mainly to keep them busy until it was time for the feast. Of all of them, Louis included, Fi enjoyed maths the most; Petal seemed to have an obsession with history, Lottie preferred poetry and literature, and Bee liked magic, though (of course) she had none herself. Louis’ own talents seemed to tend to swaying people in his favor, which was a good skill for a future king to have, yeah? He’d actually liked music the most, and kicking around a ball back when he was younger. But his tutors had put a quick stop to playing with servants’ children and as they’d grown, none of the lads had been serious about playing, not even to impress a prince. 

“Presents!” Louis announced, letting himself into Lottie’s room. He’d snuck past their keeper (busy playing with a guard) and he knew none of them had expected to see him until the feast. 

“Presents?” Bee echoed, clapping her hands. “What are they, Lou?” 

Petal just frowned up at him. “What are you apologizin’ for?” 

“I’m not apologizin’ for anything, Princess Suspicious,” he drawled, plopping down besides Lottie. He set each necklace onto the table, saying, “These are some protection charms I had made for us.” He pulled the one around his neck out of his shirt. “See, I already have mine.” 

Lottie was the first to reach for one of the charms. She made sure to catch Louis’ gaze and glance at their little sisters before looking back at him and raising a brow. “I like this one,” she murmured. It was the one Louis thought had a cheeky expression on its little bird face. 

Bee and Petal reached at the same moment—thankfully for different birds. Fi pouted a little as she took the last one. 

Once they all had the charms around their necks, Louis said seriously, “You need to keep them on at all times.” He stroked at his own charm, fingers unconsciously closing around the anchor. “No one but us will see them so no one will ask.” 

“What about when we bathe?” Fi asked softly. Of all of them, she was the quietest, the one most people seemed to forget about, sometimes. She caused the least amount trouble and was the first to apologize for their messes. 

“It can weather anything,” Louis said. 

At that, both Lottie and Fi gave him sharp looks but their keeper burst in (clearly back from a tumble and looking utterly horrified to see Louis) announcing, “Time for lessons!” 

Lottie said, “Mistress Elton, take Daisy and Phoebe, please. We’ll catch up after a word with our brother.” 

Mistress Elton tried protesting, but Louis simply ordered, “Take the younger princesses, if you please.” He did not usually play to his station but these were not at all normal times. 

“Of course, Highness,” she said demurely, sweeping into a graceful curtsey before guiding Petal and Bee out of Lottie’s room. 

“Lou,” Lottie said, the moment the door closed. “Why do we need protection charms?” She and Fi closed ranks against him, standing side by side, arms crossed, heads high. 

“How long have you had that?” Fi asked, gesturing towards where he had once again unconsciously grasped the anchor. 

Louis sighed because he could probably spin a convincing lie, but he didn’t want to. He couldn’t go to Mum, and he couldn’t spend all his time with the girls making sure they were safe, and the only person in the entire palace he trusted wholeheartedly was an _apprentice cook_ who hadn’t had any formal training in magic, for all that he seemed to be a prodigy in protection wards.

“Someone tried to mind-magick me at least twice,” he said. “And I’m pretty sure Mum’s already under a compulsion of some kind.” 

“ _What?!_ ” Lottie shouted. 

Louis shushed her, glancing towards the door but thankfully the guard didn’t come rushing in. 

“The marriage,” Fi said after a moment of Lottie glaring at Louis and Louis glaring right back at her. 

Louis nodded. “That she’s rewritten laws so that I can marry a man means she’s not fully under a thrall, I assume. But it still means I can’t trust her until I know who all is involved, if even then.” He sighed again, slumping across the table. “We think Mage Cowell is involved, and possibly Duke Walsh.” 

“So these protection charms,” Lottie mused while Fi leaned against Louis, resting her head on his shoulder. “Where did you get them? If you don’t trust Mage Cowell, then you don’t trust any of the court mages. You couldn’t have just gone down to the market and ordered them, or trusted anyone enough to give them the task.” Louis didn’t look up but he recognized her tone enough to know she’d be wearing her smuggest look. 

“Of course he got them from Harry,” Fi muttered into Louis’ shirt. 

“What?” Louis said, sitting up in shock, dislodging Fi who made a small noise of protest. 

“Harry’s a mage,” Fi said with a shrug and Louis was right about Lottie’s expression: the smug one that never ceased to annoy him. 

“How do you know he’s a mage?” Louis demanded. “ _I_ didn’t even know until he told me last night!” 

Fi shrugged again. “I found him in the garden once, you know, the really pretty secret one?” Louis nodded, so she continued, “And he was singing to the flowers. They kept changing colors. I wanted to ask what spell he was using but it just… seemed private, I guess? So I left him alone.”

According to the gardeners who refused to work there, that garden was haunted. It was all that remained from before the Winter Rebellion: ancient plants that bloomed no matter what was done to them. _Of course_ Harry sang to them. 

“And you told Lottie,” Louis said. “But not me?” 

“We figured you knew,” Lottie said. Louis was almost certain she didn’t mean to sound snotty and simply did because she was his little sister. 

Louis just rolled his eyes and said, “Yes, Harry made the charms. He made one for Mum, too, but we can’t give it to her until whatever’s goin’ on has been fixed.” 

“If we can’t trust Mage Cowell,” Lottie asked, “how can we fix it?” 

“Harry sent for his mum,” Louis said, opening his arms. Neither of them even pretended to reject the offer as they rushed to him and he held them as tightly as he could. Lottie pulled away first and Fi slowly followed. 

“We’ll act normally around Mage Cowell and the rest,” Lottie said. “These charms, they’ll protect from the mind-arts?” 

He nodded. “Harry seemed fair sure of that and I trust him.” 

Lottie and Fi shared a glance and then both laughed. Lottie pulled Fi towards the door, saying, “We want you to marry Harry, if that matters.” Lottie paused before turning the knob. “I’m glad you finally realized you adore him, Lou—it was getting _quite_ pathetic.”

“Oi!” he shouted, mostly for show, as Lottie and Fi exited gracefully, every inch proper princesses. Only after the door clicked closed did Louis allow himself relieved laughter. 

…

Harry didn’t see Louis again until the feast, when the royal family accompanied the newest honored guests into the dining hall. Every one of them was dressed splendidly but Harry had eyes only for Louis—well, after he checked that the princesses wore the charms, which they did, he was relieved to note. Louis’ shirt made his eyes sparkle, and he caught Harry’s gaze as he escorted the queen to the head of the table. 

It felt odd, sitting next to nobility and royalty in his finest clothes, which weren’t that fine compared to Lord Mullingar, sat at his left, and Prince Liam, on his right, and he vowed to do his best to not embarrass Louis. Mr. Sheeran looked so much more at ease, laughing with Prince Aiden; they’d even traveled from Gryn together. 

The prince was sat next to Queen Johannah, between her and Louis, with Mr. Sheeran on Louis’ other side. Harry tried to give his attention to Lord Mullingar, Prince Liam, and Lord Grimshaw, but Louis kept glancing at him and then quickly away—quite maddening, actually, because Louis kept making sure Harry was watching as he focused on whatever either of the new suitors was saying, licking his lips, leaning in, laughing lightly, and _always_ looking to see if he had Harry’s attention.

Which he _did_ , as he always had. Harry hadn’t the faintest idea what his fellow suitors or the nearest nobles were discussing because he kept his eyes on Louis’ end of the table, strained to hear what Louis and his companions were saying, and had never in his life been so relieved that his magic didn’t lash out as when Prince Aiden touched Louis’ arm.

To the best of Harry’s knowledge—and it was a topic on which he was _very knowledgeable_ —before this feast, Louis hadn’t truly flirted with intent, with a man or woman. But this feast, it was _all he did_ , and it wasn’t until he caught Princess Charlotte’s eye, saw her smile, that Harry found the strength to look away from that entire end of the table. 

Princess Charlotte was _laughing_ at him. He had no idea what Louis had told his sisters when he gave them the charms but whatever it was, Princess Charlotte’s smile was entirely too knowing for Harry’s peace of mind. 

“So, Harry Styles, whose father has a farm in Grimshaw,” Lord Grimshaw drawled from directly across the table. “How did you become a contender for a Crown Prince’s hand?” 

Harry gave the man his absolutely sweetest smile. “The same way you did, I suppose.” 

Lord Mullingar cackled; Lord Grimshaw simply inclined his head, smirking in return. “That was perhaps crass of me,” he admitted. “Instead, I’ll ask this: how did a farmer’s son end up in the palace?” 

It still skirted rudeness, but Harry didn’t actually care. “I’ve an apprenticeship in the kitchens,” he said, covertly glancing over at Prince Liam’s tableware to see which of the entirely-too-many forks he should be using for the appetizer. “I’ve been released until the end of this event.” 

“And then you’ll just return to the kitchens?” Prince Liam asked, sounding a bit sad for some reason. “After experiencing—”

“Experiencing what, Highness?” Harry asked when the prince faltered, keeping his tone even. “The finery of court?” 

“I apologize,” Prince Liam said. “I must confess that I am bewildered by…” He sighed, setting his fork down. “Everything. I’m here to court a _prince_.” 

Lord Mullingar laughed. “My da had the minister repeat the message three times before he believed it.” He drained his tankard, gesturing to one of the servers for more; the girl caught Harry’s eye and made a face as she backed towards the wall. Harry ducked his head, hoping his grin hadn’t been noticed. “Once he realized the whole thing was real, he left the decision up to me.” 

“So why _are_ you here, Lord Mullingar?” Harry asked. “I know that Mullingar has the best vineyards in Pallston; would you leave behind your family to become Prince Consort?” 

Lord Grimshaw laughed. “Most people, young Styles,” he said, “would give up much for the power of marrying a royal heir.” 

“I’m here mostly for the lark,” Lord Mullingar said quickly, so Harry turned back to him. “I mean, I’ve met Louis before, when we were lads—Da brought us to the palace when the queen was crowned. He’s a right laugh, isn’t he?” Harry nodded because Louis was. “I do truly like him, which I know from history isn’t always the case for royals.” His eyes widened and he looked past Harry to add, “No offense intended, Highness.” 

Prince Liam chuckled. “No offense taken. From what I’ve read about some of my ancestors, I understand your meaning. I myself am here because I was invited and Payen honors treaties. I hadn’t thought I’d like Prince Louis, but there is… something about him that is simply captivating, I must confess.” 

“And you, Lord Grimshaw?” Harry asked, leaning back so that the server could remove his picked-at dish, giving the boy a smile. Being treated like a noble was frightfully odd. Harry was fairly certain he didn’t like it. 

“Like Niall said,” Lord Grimshaw drawled, “I’m here for the experience.” He looked towards the head of the table, where Louis was lit up with laughter, and his smile widened. “I have to admit, he is a feast for the eyes, isn’t he?” 

The topic needed to change _immediately_. “Your illusions last night were very well done,” Harry said. “Did you attend the university?” 

“No,” he answered. “Father wouldn’t let me, said it was too near the ungodly influences of Gryn.” He laughed, “So instead, Uncle found me a tutor and, well.” He laughed again, bringing a hand up to his mouth. “I learned quite a lot from him, let’s leave it at that.” 

Harry nodded, chuckling a little while Lord Mullingar nearly spat out his wine and Prince Liam audibly tried not to laugh. “Do you have any other talents?” 

Lord Grimshaw shook his head. “Father wishes I did but I’m content with simply being an illusionist.” He met Harry’s eyes for a moment before saying, without looking away, “When I arrived, Mage Cowell introduced me to every mage in the palace household.” 

“It is the common practice,” Harry said, keeping his expression placid, his voice even. “As I understand, anyway.” 

“Yes,” Lord Grimshaw agreed, finally looking away as the server set the main course in front of him. Harry did, as well, murmuring, “Thank you,” but then Lord Grimshaw continued, “It’s done so that all mages of a residence know the magicks present.” He glanced to Lord Mullingar and then Prince Liam, asking, “Are either of you familiar with mages?” 

“A bit, yeah,” Lord Mullingar said while Prince Liam nodded. 

“Well, if all the mages have met, then none of their magicks will react… _negatively_ ,” Lord Grimshaw explained while Harry kept his expression interested. “Not all mages can feel another’s magic, but many do.” He peered down at the meal: pheasant, roasted with Pallston spices. 

“Is that a talent, then?” Prince Liam asked. 

Harry shoved a forkful of pheasant into his mouth so that he couldn’t answer. 

Lord Grimshaw smiled. 

. 

Once the last course was served, the court mages began performing a well-known Pallston folk tale. The dinner guests focused on the illusions but Harry’s gaze kept returning to Louis, who seemed to be whispering with Prince Aiden. Lord Mullingar and Lord Grimshaw took turns explaining the background of the tale to Prince Liam while Harry picked at his dessert. 

“You seem a bit down, Mr. Styles,” Lord Grimshaw drawled as the tale came to a close and the servers began collecting the empty dishes. 

Harry flashed a smile towards him, thanking the girl who took his plate in a murmur, clapping with the rest of the guests as the mages bowed and filed out of the hall, save Mage Cowell who resumed his seat. 

Mage Cowell also nodded towards Duke Walsh, who was sat near the royal family.

Harry wanted to march over to them and force them to tell him whatever the plan was, which was of course the stupidest thing he could do. Not only were they nobles, they were also mages in good standing, and what was Harry? A commoner, an apprentice cook, son of a journeymage and a farmer, who had never declared his magic. Perhaps Mum should’ve, when she arranged the apprenticeship, but she left it to Harry’s discretion and he simply never had.

“Thank you for joining us tonight,” Queen Johannah announced as the clock struck the tenth hour. “Our final guests will be arriving by the end of the month and then the competition for Crown Prince Louis’ hand will begin.” She smiled, an impish little grin Harry had often seen on Louis’ face. “We hope to see all of you at the Welcome Feast for Lord Benjamin of Wynn and Prince Zain of Malka in two evenings’ time.” She regally inclined her head and swept towards the main doors, each of her children following just as regally. 

Louis made sure to catch Harry’s eye and Harry tried not to bounce in his seat, already knowing his plans for the remainder of the night. 

“Mr. Styles,” Lord Grimshaw murmured as the guests began making their way toward the door. Harry had remained in his seat, planning to clean up around his place a little before leaving, and Lord Grimshaw leaned over his shoulder, putting his mouth right by Harry’s ear. “I should like to speak with you privately, if you wouldn’t mind.” 

“About what, Lord Grimshaw?” Harry asked, sitting perfectly still. 

Lord Grimshaw chuckled. “I believe you know, Mr. Styles. Would you prefer I take my concerns to Mage Cowell?” 

Harry centered himself, clamping down on his magic because Lord Grimshaw was still entirely too close for Harry’s comfort and his magic just might decide to defend him. “When would you like to have this chat, sir?” he asked, in a tone his family would have recognized. 

“Oh, now will do,” Lord Grimshaw drawled, settling into the chair next to him, draping an arm across Harry’s shoulders. The servants had begun cleaning the table, purposefully keeping their eyes away from the two remaining guests. “Tell me, how are your privacy wards?” 

…

“You seemed to get along with Prince Aiden,” Mum observed as they all returned to their wing of the palace. Bee and Petal were giggling together about something, and Fi and Lottie were deep in discussion, their personal guards following at a respectful distance and their personal bodyservants all waiting in their quarters, as if they couldn’t undress themselves. 

Perhaps that wasn’t entirely fair, Louis acknowledged, glancing from Mum’s intricate gown to the girls’. He was lucky in that regard, wasn’t he?

“He’s good for a laugh,” Louis said, seeing Mum to her door. “So’s Ed. Will he be performing soon? I’d love to hear one of his famous stories.” 

Mum smiled at him, definitely the smug one that Lottie inherited. “I’ll see you tomorrow for Petitioner’s Court, beloved Heir of mine.” She kissed his cheek and he stepped back so the girls had their turns. “You were all magnificent tonight,” she told them, kissing Lottie and Fi and then bending over slightly to hug the twins. “I’m proud of all of you,” she added, backing into her quarters. She blew a final kiss to Louis and closed the doors. 

“Come on, then,” Louis said. “It’s long past your bedtimes.” He grinned at the dirty look Lottie shot him. 

“What do you think of Prince Liam?” she asked. “He’s handsome, isn’t he?” 

“He is, at that,” Louis admitted, slowing down so the twins could keep up. “Did you hear him last night? He’s quite good at singing, too.” 

“If you don’t pick him, d’you think Mum would negotiate my marriage to him?” Lottie asked in a rush. 

Louis came to a complete stop, staring at her. “You are entirely too young to be thinking like that,” he finally said. 

“I’m fifteen, Lou,” she said. 

“No, you’re not,” he replied. 

“I’m fifteen,” she repeated, crossing her arms. “And you’re twenty-one. There have already been discussions on who my eventual husband will be, you know that.” She didn’t even sound smug, just a little resigned. 

Because he did know that. And he hadn’t been privy to _any_ of those discussions because he’d find fault with every single possibility. 

He sighed, looking from Lottie to Fi to Petal to Bee. When did they all get so big? It shouldn’t have been allowed. 

“If I don’t choose Prince Liam,” he said softly, reaching out to gently tug at a strand that had come loose from Lottie’s elaborate hair arrangement, “I’ll speak to Mum about him being added to the list for you.” 

At least he’d met Liam, knew that Liam was kind. But he’d also be speaking to Mum about the girls being given the same chance he was: to marry for love. 

She smiled up at him before gesturing to the rest of their sisters. “Come along. We should all get to our quarters soonest because Louis has somewhere to be.” 

“Does he?” his current guard, Preston, intoned menacingly. 

Louis glared at Lottie but she just kept smiling at him and then fell in with Fi so they could whisper at each other. Louis huffed and circled back to the twins, asking, “Did you enjoy the mage show?” 

“They told it wrong,” Petal informed him haughtily.

“Did they now?” he asked seriously. “How so?” 

Her explanation lasted all the way to her and Bee’s room, with pauses to bid Lottie and Fi goodnight. Since it still wasn’t done, Louis followed her into their room, where their personal servants didn’t even bother protesting as he helped get his littlest sisters ready for bed, Petal still complaining about the mages’ incorrect interpretation of a story that pre-dated Pallston, probably. 

But finally, she could barely speak for yawning and Bee was mostly asleep, the servants having retired, so Louis kissed first Petal’s forehead then Bee’s, smiling at the small bird charms dangling from their necks. He’d checked Fi and Lottie, too, had murmured during their goodnight hugs, “Don’t ever take the charms off,” and it was so relieving, to know they were protected from whatever had ensnared Mum, had tried to ensnare him. 

Three lamps were still lit in the twins’ bedchamber; Louis blew two out, leaving the smallest gleaming merrily. 

Preston was out in the hall, waiting. Louis sighed. “Am I meant to feel unsafe in my own home?” he asked tiredly. He did, of course, because Sergeant Higgins had taught him to always be wary, just in case, but Preston had only started accompanying him everywhere a mere three weeks ago. 

“With all the strangers in the palace, Highness,” he said, “Sergeant Higgins wants all’a ya watched at all times.” 

“Very well,” Louis muttered. “’m’ just goin’ to my quarters; you’ll stay in the front rooms, yeah?” 

“Of course, Highness,” Preston said. 

They didn’t speak again until Louis said, “Goodnight,” closing the door to his personal rooms. He stripped out of his finery, having dismissed his manservant first thing, quickly washed his face, and then sat on his bed, waiting. 

Surely Harry wouldn’t be much longer? 

.

It wasn’t until after midnight when Harry slipped through the door. Louis was barely awake, stretched out on top of the covers and what woke him (mostly) was Harry’s soft laughter and a pat on his shoulder, a murmured, “Surely you’d prefer to be under the blankets, Highness?” 

He blinked up at Harry and asked, “What kept you?” 

Harry shook his head. “I’ll tell you in the morning, Lou.” 

Louis let Harry guide him to the head of the bed and then tugged him down. “Kept me waitin’,” he muttered. “No’ lettin’ you go now.” 

Harry laughed again. “I don’t want to be anywhere else.” He hesitated a moment while Louis struggled not to fall back asleep and then pulled his shirt off, tossing it onto the floor. He curled against Louis, shuddering slightly, and then pressed in even closer. 

It felt like cold water, hitting Louis right in the face. “What’s wrong?” he asked, barely a whisper. 

“I’ll tell you in the mornin’,” Harry repeated, the words muffled in Louis’ chest. “Please, Lou.” 

Louis brought a hand up to pet Harry’s curls and imagined burning alive who- or whatever had bothered Harry so much. “In the mornin’,” he said. He remained awake long after Harry drifted off, breathing through the anger ’til it was mostly faded. 

.

Louis woke to Harry fiddling with the two charms around his neck, fingers brushing against his skin. Before doing anything else that needed doing, Louis reached up to cup Harry’s face in his hands, guided him so they were eye-to-eye, and asked, “What happened after the feast, Harry?” 

Harry tried pulling away and Louis let him go. He sat up as Harry scooted to the foot of the bed. “You know that Lord Grimshaw is a mage?” Harry said. Louis nodded. “Well, he somehow figured out I am, too.” 

Louis frowned. “Why is that so bad?” 

“It needn’t be,” Harry said. “I just… wasn’t expecting it.” He fidgeted with the blanket. “He wanted to know why I hadn’t been introduced with the rest of the mages, if I’d used magic on you to cheat my way onto the list.” 

“He accused you of _what_?” Louis shouted, nearly falling off the bed as he lunged for Harry, wrapping around him. “I know you wouldn’t do such a thing.” 

“You haven’t thought it once?” Harry asked, laughing incredulously. “It’s alright, Lou, it wouldn’t bother me.” 

Louis sat back on his heels, gripping Harry’s shoulders, and said firmly, “Harold, I’ve only known about your magic for a few days, that’s true. But I’ve known _you_ for seven years.” 

“Haven’t,” Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “We didn’t even speak ’til three years ago.” 

“Have so,” Louis said, smiling. “That day in the marketplace, seven years ago now, is the first time we laid eyes on each other, yeah? I knew then you were a good sort and you’ve never once let me down.” 

Harry, the sap, teared up a little. “I told Lord Grimshaw that you wore a protection charm I created, that we’ve been friends for years.” He took a deep breath, wiping at his eyes, and Louis let his hands fall. “He noticed when the charm fought the mind-magicks, I’m not sure how. None of the court mages have yet.” 

“Will he go to Cowell?” Louis asked, thoughts racing as he created and discarded half a dozen schemes to protect Harry—he _did_ outrank Cowell, after all. He outranked everyone except Mum, and that was the problem. The thrall on her… 

“I don’t think so,” Harry said, placing his hand on Louis’. “I lied to him, claimed I was little more than a hedgewitch, that I’d come to the city for a fresh start. That I didn’t use my magic for much these days.” 

“You’re a terrible liar,” Louis told him, flipping his hand so that he could thread their fingers together. “D’you think he believed you?” 

“Only you and Mum can tell when I’m lyin’,” Harry pouted. “I’m sure he believed me.” It sounded more like he _wanted_ to be sure Nick (or maybe Grimshaw, now, since he’d rattled Harry so thoroughly) believed him, but Louis just squeezed his hand. 

“What time is it?” Louis asked. Petitioner’s Court started promptly at nine and Louis wasn’t sure why his manservant hadn’t already come in to ensure he was ready. 

“Barely seven,” Harry said. “You’ve Court, I know.” He gently untangled their fingers and slid off the bed. “I think I’ll go bathe in my own quarters and see if they need help in the kitchens today.” 

“What happened to rest and relaxation?” Louis asked, watching as Harry searched the floor for his shirt. 

“Cooking _is_ relaxing,” Harry said. “It’ll help quiet my mind.” As he pulled the shirt over his head, Louis slipped from the bed and went to him, grabbing for his hand again. “What?” Harry asked, glancing down at him. 

“Swear to me, Harry Styles,” Louis commanded softly, “that if Cowell or any of his mages come for you, you’ll escape.” 

“I swear,” Harry replied, bringing their joined hands up to his mouth so he could kiss Louis’ knuckles, and then he was gone out the door. 

Louis pressed his lips together, breathing out very slowly. “You’re a terrible liar, Harry Styles,” he murmured again before wiping roughly at his eyes and going to the bathing chamber. His personal servant would be in soon, surely, and he had a full day ahead, and he couldn’t rage like a child anymore. Couldn’t stomp his feet and ignore what he didn’t like and pretend that simply because he willed it, the world would do as he wished. 

There was no one he could trust save Harry. And Harry’s mum the journeymage, who worked directly for the Mage Council, would surely be on her way to Pallston soon because a mage trying to magically control a country was definitely forbidden. And once Cowell and his co-conspirators were gone, Harry would be safe. And Louis would choose him to be Prince Consort, and everything would be absolutely perfect, gods be willing and damn them if they weren’t. 

He wiped at his eyes again, glancing at the mirror, and then put on his most brilliant smile. He would bathe, slip into his uncomfortable Court clothes, and everything would be utterly wonderful. 

As he turned away from the mirror, Louis brought his hand up to brush against the anchor and bird, and he felt a little better. 

…

When he arrived at the kitchen, Barbara asked, “Aren’t you meant to be gettin’ ready to earn the prince’s hand, Harry?” 

He shrugged. “Please, Barbara, I need to work today.” He needed to not think about anything, not about Lord Grimshaw’s accusations or the plot he wasn’t near qualified enough to battle or how damned sad Louis was when Harry promised ( _ **lied** , you mean,_ he could hear Gemma say) to run if need be. 

“Alright,” Barbara said. “Jon needs an assistant today.” 

Harry nodded and went to help Jon with tomorrow’s bread. 

. 

Harry worked all day, only taking breaks when forced; he barely paused long enough for lunch, and then only because Perrie sat him down and watched him eat. Once Jon was out of tasks for him, he went to the sinks full of dishes and steadily washed them all. He focused only on the chores, on the burn in his back and the ache in his hands, and it was long after sunset when Leigh-Ann grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him away from the counter he’d been scrubbing. 

“You’ve done enough,” she told him. “You’ve done more than anyone should in a day.” 

“But there’s still things to do,” he protested and she frowned at him. 

“You’re not even meant to be here, Harry,” she said. “Now, go rest or, I dunno, visit the prince.” He ducked his head, worrying at his lip, and she added, “We’re all rootin’ for you, you know. I’ve been thinkin’ you should tumble with him for years but this is better.” 

“Leigh-Ann,” he said, “do all’a you think—”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “It’s absolutely _sickening_ how you look at each other.” She grinned, patting him on the shoulder, and then headed towards the door, saying, “I should’ve known you wouldn’t settle for just a tumble.” 

Now that he’d stopped moving, he realized how much his body hurt. He usually took better care but today had been a frenzy. 

He felt calmer, though. More settled, in both his body and his magic. There was little he could do until Mum arrived, and he had no control over whatever Lord Grimshaw chose to do. But what he _could_ do was his absolute best at whatever tasks Queen Johannah chose for the competition and keep watch on the court mages. 

Harry took some of the leftover pheasant from the coldbox and quickly made his way up to Louis’ room, hoping for whatever Louis had planned for the night before that they hadn’t had the chance to do. It was near nine o’clock and besides Petitioner’s Court, which ended mid-afternoon, Louis had nothing scheduled, so Harry was certain he’d be in his personal quarters. 

He snuck past the guards and the servants in the front rooms of Louis’ quarters, hungry and tired and _so_ ready to see Louis’ smile, and he just wanted to cry when Louis wasn’t there. 

.

Harry sat at Louis’ desk and slowly ate the pheasant. Once all of it was gone, he continued sitting there, gazing around the small study. It held two bookcases stuffed full: ancient classics; a few collections of legends and folktales from not only Pallston but Gryn, Payen, Malka, and Festano; history texts; a _very_ battered  The Guide to Magical Artes and all of its accompanying volumes; books on warfare, strategy, and decorum; and then, Harry was happy to note, there was an entire shelf with nothing but transcribed comedy skits, the kind that even Holmes Chapel had hosted a time or two. There were tapestries on the walls, portraits of Louis’ ancestors and gorgeous landscapes. Harry didn’t read any of the papers on the desk or shoved into the small cubbies but while he was examining everything he noticed a small green stone tucked away into a corner of the desk. 

It was a Watching Stone, he recognized that, but just by sight he couldn’t tell if it was dormant or not. Depending on its strength, it would sense and report back a passive scan of assessment. Maybe Mum could scan it without triggering it but Harry didn’t know how. Should it be active, was it powerful enough to be spying on all of Louis’ quarters? Just the study? It galled Harry that he didn’t know. Because if it recorded _all_ of Louis’ quarters, then the conspirators already knew they’d been found out. 

Which, surely, meant that Harry would’ve been challenged today, somehow. 

“I’m back in me rooms, you lout!” Harry heard, so he spun in the chair. “All’a ya out!” 

“Highness,” Louis’ personal manservant Eton murmured as Harry tried to silently tiptoe to the door, “Lord Wynn will arrive mid-morning; I’ll be in to help prepare you.” 

“Yes, I know!” Louis shouted. “Out, out, out!” 

“Good night, Highness,” Sergeant Higgins said. “I’ll have two men stationed outside your door so that you can’t get into any more trouble tonight.” 

“Out!” he shouted again, so obviously drunk that Harry couldn’t believe they were leaving him alone. 

He stepped into the living area, watching as Louis tried to strip off his clothes. “What trouble have you already gotten into tonight?” he asked, trying to look serious but being unable to help the smile. 

He cast a quick sound-dampening charm just before Louis laughed, “’arold!” and lost his balance as he spun around. He went down with a yelp and then just lay there, cackling. “You’re here!” was all Harry could make out. 

“Yes, I am,” Harry agreed, walking over to offer Louis a hand. “And you’re pissed.” 

“Just a little,” Louis said, grinning up at him. “We trashtalked! I kicked their arses, I did.” He blinked at Harry’s hand, grabbing instead for Harry’s ankle. “You’re tall.” 

“Are you just gonna lie there?” Harry asked without pulling back his hand. 

“’s’comfortable,” Louis said. “C’mon down here.” 

Harry sighed and decided the struggle of dragging Louis to his bed wasn’t worth it; he dropped down and sat cross-legged, watching Louis laugh at who-knew-what. “Did you kick their arses at trashtalkin’,” Harry asked, “or did you actually kick their arses?” 

“Both!” Louis crowed, rolling onto his side to smile widely and then Harry laughed loudly as he fell back, unable to hold it. 

“How long has it been since you got this sloshed?” Harry asked through the laughter. “I’d think you could hold it better than this.” 

“’s’Liam’s fault,” Louis muttered, barely discernible. “Brought ‘is grandda’s special brew.” 

“So you were with Prince Liam.” Harry knew he had no cause to be jealous but he felt it nonetheless. 

“And Aiden!” Louis yelled. 

The jealousy spiked. “What about the others?” Harry asked, keeping his voice perfectly even. Had they all visited and had fun without him? That was surely against the rules of whatever competition Queen Johannah was still engineering. 

“Just us princes,” Louis told him, rolling back onto his side and reaching out to pat Harry’s knee. “Pallston is the greatest, best country in all the world, Harold. I had to, to,” he paused, pouting as he searched for the words, finally settling on, “They know now,” nodding firmly as he dug his fingers into Harry’s skin. 

“Because you kicked their arses,” Harry said. 

Louis nodded so firmly he fell forward onto his front and Harry’s jealousy faded entirely into utter fondness for this silly, lovely man. 

.

Of course, he did eventually drag Louis to his bed; Louis muttered the whole time, mostly, it seemed, about Harry’s curls. He tried dragging Harry down beside him but Harry successfully avoided him. “Did you want out of your clothes or not, Highness?” he asked, trying not to laugh. 

“’arold,” Louis said, trying for seductive and missing by an entire continent since he was so shitfaced, “’r’ya goin’ to ‘ave your way with me?” 

“No, you idiot,” Harry laughed. “Will you be comfortable in your clothes?” 

“Off, off, off,” Louis chanted, going for the buttons on his shirt. When he failed to undo them, he let his hands fall onto the bed, pouting. 

“I’ll do it, shall I?” Harry asked, working his way down the shirt as quickly as possible. “What did you and the other princes talk about?” 

“Pol-policies,” Louis said. His mania seemed to be fading for tiredness. “Poli _tics_. Bein’ princes and what rot what comes wit’it.” 

“Rot?” Harry echoed. 

“Jus’ the trappin’s, y’know?” He was fading fast and barely helped Harry slip his arms out of the shirt. “’s’a cage, Harodold.” 

“Harodold?” Harry had to repeat. “I hope you remember that in the morning, Lou.” He had no idea how to address the rest of the statement. Was it something Louis would want to discuss with Harry, a mere commoner who’d never known such weighty responsibilities? 

Louis’ shirt was probably the finest clothing Harry had ever touched, worth more money than he’d ever seen at a time. He dropped it on the floor and went after Louis’ trousers. Louis wasn’t awake enough to notice Harry peel them down his legs, and then Louis was sprawled on the bed in only his pants and Harry couldn’t even enjoy it. Louis just looked small and sad, and Harry gently moved him closer to the headboard, maneuvered him beneath the blankets. 

Nothing in all of Pallston could’ve kept Harry from tucking himself around Louis that night, determined to protect him from any sort of bad dreams.

… 

Louis woke to Harry’s fingertips trailing along his jaw. “After her first year at university,” he whispered, “my sister taught me a potion that deals with hangovers.” 

“By the gods, give it to me,” Louis groaned. 

Harry giggled and rolled to the other side of the bed. He kneewalked back, holding out a tankard. Louis struggled out of the blankets, leaning back against the headboard, and took the tankard as carefully as he could. He didn’t even care if it tasted like piss, the way the healers’ concoctions always did, because it couldn’t possibly taste worse than his mouth did. 

To his surprise and pleasure, the potion tasted like strawberries and he drained it down without stopping ‘til it was all gone. 

“It should begin working in a few minutes,” Harry said as Louis offered the empty tankard back. “It’ll also give you energy.” 

“Time’s it?” Louis asked, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Half eight,” Harry said. “What time will Eton be in?” 

“Soon,” Louis said. He groaned again, slumping back down onto the blankets as he remembered flashes of last night. Everything had been fine until Liam brought out his grandfather’s special brew. He knew the moment the potion began working because it felt like a cold cloth inside his head, soothing away the sting. 

“I’ll head out, then,” Harry murmured, smiling. 

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Louis said. “I was… I was an utter tit last night, I know that. I’d like to make it up t’you somehow.” 

“You’ve nothing to make up,” Harry said. He glanced towards the nook that housed Louis’ private study and then said, “There’s a Watching Stone in your desk, Lou. I don’t know if it’s active or not.” 

Louis sat up, angry and fearful in equal measure. “D’you think they know we know?” 

Harry shrugged, chewing on his lip. “I don’t know,” he repeated. “If it _is_ active, we can’t do anything without whoever’s on the other end knowin’. If it’s not, it doesn’t matter.” 

“Shit-fuck,” Louis muttered, resting his forehead in his palm. The last of the alcohol-induced pain left him and so he reached for Harry’s hand, tilting his head so he could see Harry’s face. “Can you meet me for lunch?” he asked. “In your quarters. Just us, and we can take a break from, from worryin’ about Mum and Pallston and everythin’.” 

Louis’ favorite smile blossomed on Harry’s face. “I’d like that,” he said. “My quarters, at half noon?” The smile dimmed slightly. “But what of greeting the newest suitor?” 

“Lunch with you, Harry,” Louis said, “is where I’ll be at half noon, no matter what else is happening. Understand?” 

Harry nodded, gently pulling away. “I really need to leave now,” he said. “I’ll see you at lunch.” 

Louis watched him go and then flopped back onto the bed. A Watching Stone spying on him. How long had it been there? He’d been using the study since he was a child. 

“Highness?” Eton called, bursting into the room. “Lord Wynn will be here in two hours.” 

“And I must be utterly flawless, I know,” Louis sighed before slowly rolling out of bed. 

.

Lord Benjamin Wynn, second child and oldest son of Duke Wynn, who controlled the finest mines of Pallston. At over a decade Louis’ senior, he was the second oldest of the suitors and Louis knew he’d met the man before at least once but as it was at Mum’s coronation, the meeting had been a bit overshadowed. 

He also knew, thanks to Oli’s love of gossip, that there had been talk of a betrothal contract between Wynn and one of the daughters of the Head of the Textile Guild, though once Lord Wynn had been invited to try for Louis’ hand, Duke Wynn had turned to that instead. 

Waiting for Wynn’s arrival, Louis realized he’d have to come up with a very clever, charming way to explain choosing an apprentice cook over princes and nobility. Whatever trials and challenges Mum had planned would surely help with that, and he wished he knew what they were, so he could tell Harry. 

Thankfully, Wynn arrived promptly, perfectly on schedule, and Louis greeted him graciously, as befitted a prince. After the pleasantries were seen to, Wynn asked if he could retire to his suite, smiling handsomely at Louis, as it had been a long journey. 

“Of course, Lord Wynn,” Louis said, smiling in return. “Lunch will be provided for you and your retinue. When you’re ready, just ask any guard for an escort to show you around the palace.” Wynn bowed and Louis gestured for one of the attendants that had been waiting with him. “Lead them to their rooms, if you please,” he ordered and waited until everyone had vanished down the hall to ask the remaining attendant, “What time is it?” 

“Half ten, Highness,” the woman said after sketching a rune into the air. 

So he had two hours to spend until meeting Harry. And he should track down Mum or one of the myriad of tutors, as he was meant to, whenever he had free time because (as Mum often told him) a prince’s work was never done. 

Except that, of course, he couldn’t explain why he would only be able to stay two hours. 

Or he could find his sisters and bother them, or go for a practice bout on the training grounds, or even explore the library’s volumes on the mind-arts. Except that if _any_ one of the conspirators saw or was informed about it, they’d wonder, surely. 

It was quite annoying that every possibility was closed to him. 

Well, he’d simply have to hide away in Harry’s room early, then. It was the best way to ensure no one waylaid him. 

.

Harry’s guest room was quite larger than his room in the servants’ quarters. Harry hadn’t moved all of his things, of course, just the ones that meant the most. Louis glanced through his small collection of books, mostly about cooking and gardening, but then, the thinnest, least-noticeable of them was titled The Secrets of Magick. Louis blinked down at it because it was a tome he’d never seen before, and the author’s name wasn’t anywhere on it, either the front cover or the title page or listed in the notes at the end. 

Louis put all the rest back and brought The Secrets of Magick with him to the couch, where he stretched out to read. 

.

From the first paragraph, Louis realized it was unlike any other text on magic he’d ever seen. By the end of the first chapter, he knew that if Cowell discovered Harry had this text, he would probably charge Harry in front of the Guild of Mages with treason or something to that effect, for spilling the secrets of magecraft and magic to those who had never been so gifted. 

He _devoured_ the book because it wasn’t about incantations and rituals and dry histories on spells no one used anymore. It was about how magic _felt_ , from a mage enacting their will on someone else’s mind to a weather-witch creating a whirlwind to a healer bringing someone from the brink of death. It wasn’t a spellbook or a textbook; it was a journal, revealing a dozen mages’ deepest thoughts of their craft. It was personal, intimate, and Louis should _not_ have been reading it, as a man who never had and never would have magic of his own. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away until he turned to the final chapter, labeled, ‘How to Raise a Magickless Child.’ He stared down at the words, glanced lower to the first sentence, which began _I am a mage, as are my parents before me, but I’ve birthed a daughter without magic…_ and shut the book. Of all the secrets he’d read, he didn’t want to see that mother’s struggle. 

He set The Secrets of Magick down on the cushion beside him and stood, stretching. He’d no idea how long it had been since he sat down but his stomach assured him it was nearing lunchtime. Once he’d worked the kinks out, he brought the book back to the pile and re-buried it. He then poked around in the corners of the suite—Harry had boxes that wouldn’t open and bags that moved away when Louis got close, so Louis wasted a few minutes chasing one of them and then tripped over nothing, going down with a laugh. 

Which, of course, was when Harry bustled in, humming to himself. “Lou?” he asked. “What are you doin’ on the floor?” His hands were full, Louis saw when he rolled over, with a very large basket. 

“What’s for lunch?” he said, bouncing up, taking great delight in kissing Harry, moving from his lips down his neck. 

“Stop that,” Harry laughed. “I’ll drop the food.” 

Louis nipped at the skin at the base of his throat, more daring than he’d been with even the prostitute. It just all felt _right _with Harry, so easy. Touching him, tasting him, being around him… it settled something in him that Louis had never known was restless. Since that day in the marketplace, which he only realized in hindsight.__

__“Food!” he said, carefully pulling the basket from Harry. “We can use the windowseat,” he suggested. “You haven’t a table in this suite.”_ _

__Harry followed him. “I have duck soup with fresh bread,” he said as Louis opened the basket. “And a bit of fruit—strawberries and grapes, and a little bit of cantaloupe.” Louis pulled out a large, deep bowl of the soup, which should have been spilling all over but Harry added, flushing slightly, “I may have used a little bit of magic to keep everything where it belonged. And there’s cake, too! One of Louise’s latest creations.” Louis set the loaf of warm bread beside the bowl while Harry retrieved the plate of fruit and the two slices of cake._ _

__“We should start with dessert,” Louis said, putting the basket to the side after grabbing the napkin-wrapped utensils. He dropped down to the floor, turning so that his legs didn’t keep Harry from joining him._ _

__“We can’t do that,” Harry replied, sinking to his knees and arranging everything on the seat. He settled back, frowning at the food before he glanced at Louis. “Are you comfortable like that?” he asked, gesturing at Louis’ legs. He shrugged and Harry’s frown deepened. “I’ve only the one bowl of soup,” he said and Louis couldn’t stop the smile as the bowl floated to hang between them. “Get in a more comfortable position, Louis,” Harry told him._ _

__Louis shifted so that his legs were crossed in front of him and Harry did, too, scooting so that their knees touched. The bowl floated to hang evenly between them, and then the bread joined it, slicing itself cleanly into half a dozen pieces. Each piece of fruit floated over, spinning in place. Louis looked at Harry, who was trying very hard not to smile and failing._ _

__He grabbed one of the spoons and helped himself to the soup while Harry plucked three of the grapes from the air. “This is wonderful,” Louis said, dipping the bread. “Didja make it yourself?”_ _

__Harry nodded. “I didn’t want to take anything that’ll be in the feast tonight. There’s a small kitchen tucked back near the haunted garden. I wasn’t in anybody’s way there.”_ _

__They ate in silence for a few minutes and Harry kept darting glances at Louis, fidgeting with the bread before quickly eating, and then grabbing another grape, which he rolled across his knuckles instead of putting in his mouth._ _

__“What’s wrong?” Louis asked when it became obvious that though Harry wanted to tell him, he wouldn’t without prompting._ _

__“I… saw your mum, in the hall,” Harry said. “There weren’t any mages around, so I, um, checked her for a thrall?” He stared down at the grape now resting on the back of his hand._ _

__“And?” Louis asked, quite patiently, he thought, lowering the spoon and dumping the soup back into the bowl._ _

__“There’s magick on her, Lou. I’d hoped—” He sighed, seeming to fall in on himself without actually moving a muscle. “But there’s magick, and I couldn’t.” He flicked the grape away, bringing both hands to tangle in his hair, tugging at it. “I don’t know how to, to _expel_ the magick without hurting her, I have no idea how tell _whose_ it _actually_ is, and I’m just, I’m _useless_.” _ _

__Louis rose up to his knees and crawled around the still-floating food, grabbing for Harry’s hands before he actually managed to pull out chunks of hair. “You’re not useless, I promise,” he said as soothingly as he could. “And your mum, who _does_ know all that, or at least knows mages who do, is on the way, yeah?” _ _

__Harry finally nodded, looking up at him. “I… I’m not sure what kind of thrall it is, how far it goes. Or even what the intent is. Has she been acting odd?”_ _

__Louis shook his head, going back to the other side of the food and resuming his seat, touching Harry’s knees with his own. “Not that I’ve noticed, and I’ve been watchin’ pretty carefully.”_ _

__Another silence fell, but this one nowhere near as fraught, and then Louis asked, “What was it like growing up with magic?”_ _

__“How do you mean?” Harry glanced up from making the grapes swirl around the strawberry._ _

__Louis shrugged. “I’m not even sure, honestly. I mean, it must be like seeing or hearing or somethin’, right? It’s just another part of you.”_ _

__Harry’s smile lit up the room. “That’s exactly it,” he exclaimed. “It’s just… how things were, you know? But my magic, it was also so… _soft_ , I guess, compared to Gemma.” He chewed on his lip and then said, “I could tell you about the time Gemma called down a whirlwind and tore up one of Dad’s fields?” _ _

__Louis nodded. “I’d like to hear it.”_ _

__._ _

__There was almost certainly things Louis needed to do before the Welcome Feast (which included freshening up in order to greet Prince Zain upon his arrival) but he whiled away most of the afternoon listening to Harry talk about Holmes Chapel and traveling with his mum and stealing Gemma’s schoolbooks to devour by magelight long after he should’ve been asleep. Harry, as Louis learned the first week of their friendship, could not tell a story in proper order at all, but it gave Louis great insight into his mind and Louis could listen to him ramble without ever reaching the point of the tale all day long._ _

__It was finally Harry, long after the final bit of the soup had been soaked up by the bread and the last crumb of the cake was gone, who said, "Surely you have responsibilities, Highness." He smiled at Louis, reaching out to squeeze his hand, lifting it to his lips for a kiss. "You've wasted enough time on me."_ _

__"No time spent with you is ever wasted, Harold," Louis said, squeezing Harry's hand in return and then leaning past the still-floating dishwater to kiss him. "But there are things I should do." He chuckled, releasing Harry's hand as he rose to his feet. "I wonder if they're lookin’ for me yet."_ _

__Harry frowned up at him but Louis saw the smile hiding in his eyes. "You didn't tell anyone where you'd be?"_ _

__“Well, of course I didn’t,” Louis scoffed. “They’d have found somethin’ for me to do.” Harry giggled as Louis offered him a hand, adding, “There’s nothing I would’ve enjoyed more’n this lunch.”_ _

__“Thank you,” Harry said, grabbing Louis’ hand and bouncing up, where Louis had to steady him so he didn’t just topple back down. Harry didn’t let go as all the dishes floated to the window seat, where they disappeared into the basket. “Go do whatever you need to do,” Harry told him. “I’ll see you at the feast.”_ _

__It was with great reluctance that Louis left Harry’s room but tonight’s suitor was definitely not one that Louis could afford to offend._ _

__He was three halls away from the guest wing when one of the servants turned the corner and said, “Oh, Prince Louis, thank the gods. Her Majesty commands you join her in the library.” The woman curtsied and rushed back the way she’d come._ _

__“Guess I’m going to the library,” Louis muttered, following her._ _

__._ _

__With Prince Zain’s arrival, all of Louis’ suitors were present save one: the Grand Duke Nicolò of Festano, the second son of Emperor Michele. Louis learned when he was very young, from Mum who’d been crying, that Empress Ianthe had died during childbirth and her third son with her. Louis was just old enough to realize that it might happen to his mum, too, so with each of his sisters, he felt a small sense of dread. It also shook his faith in healers for a bit because surely the Emperor of Festano could afford the greatest healers in the world, and if they couldn’t save the Empress—_ _

__Louis shook off the thoughts and gave Prince Zain his best courtly bow as Prince Zain did the same. “Welcome,” Louis said. “I hope your journey was uneventful.”_ _

__Prince Zain smirked. “Even a bit boring.” He gestured to his retinue. “If we’re not to be formally presented to Malikah Johannah, may we retire to our quarters until this evening?”_ _

__“Of course,” Louis agreed. “Come, I’ll show you the way.” He noticed how Prince Zain’s gaze lingered on some of the antique portraits, so he began mentioning small details he knew about the history of the pieces. The prince’s retinue all followed silently while Preston stayed within reach of Louis at all times. Louis assumed Prince Zain had a bodyguard of his own that was far more unobtrusive._ _

__“Someone will be sent a half hour before the start of the feast,” Louis said once they were at the set of rooms assigned to the Malkan party, “for the formal presentation to Queen Johannah.”_ _

__“Thank you,” Prince Zain said. His eyes flicked from Louis’ mouth down his body and back up to meet Louis’ gaze. “My father considered offering my younger sister’s hand, when the minister informed him you sought to marry.”_ _

__“Your younger sister is too young,” Louis replied, knowing that Princess Waliyha was Lottie’s age._ _

__Prince Zain shrugged elegantly but there was a touch of relief on his face. “I am quite curious, Prince Louis, about this entire… process.”_ _

__“I hope you find it satisfactory,” Louis said. “I’ll leave you to your rest, Prince Zain.” He didn’t bow again though Zain did respectfully incline his head._ _

__Louis had to admit as he _finally_ made it back to his room just in time to bathe and then talk Eton down from some sort of panicked fit about Louis’ clothes for the feast, that if he’d never seen Harry, Prince Zain would’ve been the most attractive man he’d ever laid eyes on. _ _

__…_ _

__Harry considered casting a glamor over his best clothes, as he wore them to the feast two nights ago and certain attendees would surely note that – but he felt no shame. He’d washed them before his lunch with Louis so as 7 o’clock drew near, he dressed and made his way to the dining hall. His seat tonight was in-between Mr. Sheeran and Lord Grimshaw, with Prince Aiden, Lord Mullingar, and Prince Liam across from them. Duke Walsh was again sat near Mage Cowell, and Harry assumed that Prince Zain and Lord Wynn would be with Louis and Queen Johannah._ _

__Lord Grimshaw greeted him with a wide smile. “Hullo again, Mr. Styles,” he said, dropping into his seat and scooting it a tad too close. “Didn’t you say your sister is a mage?”_ _

__“Yes,” Harry said, keeping his tone even and respectful. “She’s a battle mage.”_ _

__“A _battle mage_?” Prince Aiden echoed. “Has she done much battling, then?” _ _

__It took all of Harry’s control to not glare at Lord Grimshaw as he shook his head. “It’s nothing so glamorous as that,” he explained, “though I know Gemma wishes it were. She just recently began journeying; I think she’s somewhere in Malka now.”_ _

__“I’ve always been curious,” Prince Liam said as he and Lord Mullingar settled into their seats. “What does journeying actually entail?”_ _

__“According to Gemma,” Harry said, choosing to not mention Mum’s own journeying yet, “she mostly wanders from village to village dealing with jinxes and hexes and the like. In the places so small they don’t have a magistrate of their own, she’s meant to help with quarrels.”_ _

__Smiling at Harry, Prince Aiden said, “My older brother is a healer. I know what it’s like, having a magical sibling. I used to be so jealous of him.”_ _

__Harry shrugged a little. “Gemma’s magic used to get the better of her, sometimes; often, I was relieved I didn’t have magic like her.” It was not even a lie, really, just a slight omission._ _

__Lord Grimshaw coughed suddenly, quickly covering his mouth. “Pardon me,” he said. “Should we do introductions, then?” He grinned at Prince Aiden and then leaned around Harry to grin at Mr. Sheeran. “I am Lord Nicholas of Grimshaw, nephew of Duke Grimshaw. This,” he said, clapping one hand onto Harry’s shoulder and squeezing, “is Mr. Harry Styles, from Grimshaw.” He inclined his head towards Lord Mullingar and Prince Liam as he said, “Lord Niall, younger son of the Marquis of Mullingar, and Prince Liam of Payen.”_ _

__“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Prince Aiden said. “Um, I’m Aiden of Gryn.” He raised his hand and then awkwardly lowered it, as if he’d wanted to wave. “Please, just call me Aiden.”_ _

__“I’m Ed Sheeran,” Mr. Sheeran said. “Ed, please. Not used to all this formal stuff.” He nudged Harry’s side, leaning in to murmur, “Us commoners should stick together, yeah?”_ _

__“D’ya mind,” Harry began. “That is. I just…” He sighed, looking down at his hands._ _

__“Just ask,” Ed said kindly, still leaning in slightly as the nobles and royalty moved on to other topics._ _

__“The stories you tell,” Harry said. “The ones that are _yours_ —where do they come from?” _ _

__Ed chuckled gently, settling back into his chair. “You mean, how is it that I’ve got so many courts fightin’ to keep me?”_ _

__Harry nodded._ _

__Smiling, Ed brought a hand to his mouth and tapped a finger to his lips. “I was tested for magic when I was younger, o’course; it’s the practice in Gryn. M’brother and I are both magickless, though our parents have small talents.” He shrugged. “But words come to me, and I speak them, and people listen. M’brother’s the same way with music. When I was fifteen, one of the Lords of the Court heard me at a festival and invited me to Court, where I retold the story for Aiden’s parents. And it all went from there.” He laughed softly, saying, “I’ve told the histories of Festano, Malka, Payen, Pallston, and Gryn—and I’m just a boy from Framlingham barely into my second decade but here I am.”_ _

__“What do you think of our prince, Ed?” Lord Mullingar asked. “I think he’s a right laugh, especially compared to this lout here,” he cackled, slapping Prince Liam on the back._ _

__Ed laughed. “Well, unfortunately I don’t know Prince Liam well enough to compare, but I’ll grant that Prince Louis is quite the charming fellow, and I’ve met a fair few royals.”_ _

__The doors of the hall opened and the royal family swept in, Lord Wynn and Prince Zain with them. Louis caught Harry’s eye; he was, of course, once again dressed in clothes worth more than Harry could even fathom and he looked utterly delectable._ _

__Ed leaned in, pressing his lips right to Harry’s ear to murmur, “Is there a story betwixt you and the prince, then?” Harry tried to control the bolt of terror that shot through him, when Ed added, just as softly, “s’not my story to tell,” and then turned back to face the procession._ _

__Prince Zain was sat between the queen and Louis with Lord Wynn on Louis’ other side. Queen Johannah said, “Welcome and well met to our newest guests, Prince Zain of Malka and Lord Wynn.” She inclined her head to both of them as they bowed deeply. Louis turned his head enough to catch Harry’s eye again, as though every eye in the room wasn’t looking in his direction, while Queen Johannah said a few more words of greeting. It was all noise to him because he could tell Louis was smiling (just for _him_?) because of the crinkles beside his eye. _ _

__Finally, Louis turned away and Harry exhaled. As he collected himself, he glanced across the table and saw Lord Mullingar grinning broadly at him. _Chat later_ , Lord Mullingar mouthed as the servers trotted in with the first course. _ _

__Harry didn’t look up from his plate ‘til the main course, when Ed and Lord Grimshaw got into an argument about a legend from the lands around Holmes Chapel. The two princes were discussing being the youngest of three, and how Prince Aiden’s brothers differed from Prince Liam’s sisters, while Lord Mullingar was watching Lord Grimshaw and Ed snap at each other._ _

__“I actually grew up in Holmes Chapel,” Harry finally felt compelled to say. “My grandmum told me that story and, well, I can’t say you’re both wrong, but you’re surely not right.”_ _

__“Well then, by all means, Mr. Styles,” Lord Grimshaw drawled. “Enlighten us.”_ _

__“Please do,” Ed added. “I don’t like tellin’ stories wrong.”_ _

__Harry glanced first at Lord Grimshaw, who didn’t look annoyed or angry at all; more bemused than anything, it seemed. He then looked at Ed, who was smiling._ _

__“The first time she visited,” Harry began, “was in the dead of winter, when all the world was cold.” It was a story he knew well, heard the first time when he was knee-high and into everything. Grandmum used it to keep him quiet, because it was so horrifying. Mum had actually _yelled_ at her for telling him. When he was little, he loved it. As he grew, he realized why Mum had been so angry. _ _

__Halfway through, he realized he’d left out a crucial detail, so he had to go back and retell part of it, but none of them seem to mind so much. Prince Aiden looked a little sick and Prince Liam was barely picking at his food. Lord Grimshaw had given up arguing the minor details and at some point, Ed pulled out a small scrap of paper and roughly-hewn piece of charcoal to take notes._ _

__He finished the tale as the dessert course was being served, the same kind of cake he had with Louis earlier. Of course, it was iced this time, Louise having gone all-out to impress the attendees._ _

__“That…” Prince Aiden said. “I doubt I’ll ever eat goose again.”_ _

__Harry laughed, so loudly it was embarrassing and he had to cover his mouth to muffle it. Once he was able to straighten up without laughing again, he glanced toward the head of the table, where Louis was glaring at his piece of cake. Harry frowned but Ed asked, “Harry, what was the daughter’s name?”_ _

__“Elena,” he said. “Her brother was Tyrus, and the baby—well, the baby wasn’t named, which always bothered me, so could you name her, please?”_ _

__“Doesn’t that make it _worse >?” Prince Liam said. “The whole thing is terrible. Your grandmother told you that?” __ _

___“It’s not even the bloodiest version,” Lord Grimshaw said with a sigh. “Ugh, I can’t enjoy this scrumptious dessert now. Thank you for that, Styles.”_ _ _

___It was teasing, almost fondly, Harry thought. So he just smiled, drawling, “You’re welcome, Grimshaw,” and was rewarded by Lord Grimshaw chuckling._ _ _

___When he glanced back at Louis, Louis was turned to face Prince Zain, who was smiling widely, looking far more attractive than Harry knew he had ever been in his life._ _ _

___._ _ _

___After the feast, Lord Mullingar invited Harry to go walking. “To work off the amazin’ food, innit?” Lord Mullingar said with a booming laugh. Louis had exited with his family and the guests, so though Harry planned on once again stealing into Louis’ quarters, he knew he had time. And if he could convince Lord Mullingar to keep what he thought he knew to himself—_ _ _

___“Of course, sir,” Harry said with a deferential nod._ _ _

___“Now, none o’that,” Lord Mullingar said. “Me da’s the sir, not me. I’m just Niall, if there’s none of the fancy folk about, yeah?”_ _ _

___Harry wanted to ask about the sudden switch in Lord M— _Niall’s_ speech but refrained. “Of course, Niall,” he said, with the same inflection as before. Niall laughed at him. _ _ _

___As they stepped into the nearest garden, Harry tossed up a minor distraction charm. Anyone attempting to listen in magically would find cause to be somewhere else, focusing on other things; Gemma had taught it to him when they were younger and it wasn’t until he was listening to a few hedgewitches talk at one of Mum’s visits that he realized it was far more powerful than most hedgewitches could do. It should definitely work on any of the lesser of the court mages._ _ _

___“So, you and the prince,” Niall said, grinning. “How long’s that been goin’ on?”_ _ _

___“We’ve been friends since I began work at the palace,” Harry answered._ _ _

___Suddenly serious, Niall said, “Don’t play stupid.” He turned on his heel to look Harry directly in the eye. “What you tell me now will decide how I act for the duration of this event, Apprentice Styles.”_ _ _

___Harry nodded, biting his lower lip. “It’s only been a few days,” he said. “But I—I’ve loved him for years.”_ _ _

___“Good,” Niall (still Niall? Or Lord Mullingar?) said, smiling again. “See, I don’t want to marry Louis, or anyone, really. But I think I could grow to like him well enough, and I think I could keep him happy.” He reached out to pat Harry quite forcefully on the back. “But I’ll be rootin’ for you, Harry.”_ _ _

___“Thank you, Niall,” Harry said. “If you’ll excuse me?”_ _ _

___“O’course, o’course,” Niall said, laughing as Harry walked quickly back toward the palace, dispelling the distraction charm as he did._ _ _

___._ _ _

___Louis’ guards were outside his quarters, his manservant had been dismissed, and he was curled up in one of his chairs, flipping through one of the playbooks from his study. He looked up as Harry entered, nervousness on his face._ _ _

___All of Harry’s insecurities faded. He asked, “Now that all but the Emperor’s son have arrived, would you still ask me to court you?”_ _ _

___Louis set the book aside, dropping his feet to the floor and standing. “I’ve told you before, Harold—I’d marry you tomorrow, before all the gods, if need be.”_ _ _

___“Good,” Harry said. “Will you take me to bed, Highness?”_ _ _

___Louis nodded, still a little nervous, it seemed. “I’ve been with women,” he said. “I haven’t—”_ _ _

___“Lou,” Harry said, stepping in close. Louis’ hands drifted down to rest on his hips as Harry asked, “Do you _want_ to take me to bed?” _ _ _

___“I do,” Louis murmured._ _ _

___“Then I can show you what I’ve learned,” Harry said. Louis’ hands pressed into his hips as Harry kissed his way from Louis lips down his throat._ _ _

___Louis stepped backwards, tugging Harry with him. “Then show me.”_ _ _

___._ _ _

___Harry woke to Louis laying on his side, watching him with the softest, loveliest smile on his face. “Spend the day with me and my sisters, love,” Louis said._ _ _

___As much as he didn’t want to, Harry said, “There are things we need to discuss.”_ _ _

___Louis sighed, flopping forward to bury his face in Harry’s chest and mutter, “I know.”_ _ _

___._ _ _

___If anyone were to learn that Louis already had a relationship with one of his suitors, the validity of the entire courtship and all it entailed would be called into question; with foreign realms involved, the whole thing could turn disastrous._ _ _

___If anyone were to learn that one of the suitors was an undeclared mage…_ _ _

___If anyone were to learn that Louis knew of a magical attempt on his mind but told no one (save the undeclared mage’s mother) of it…_ _ _

___“Lord Mullingar and Mr. Sheeran know about us,” Harry said. “And Lord Grimshaw knows about my magic.”_ _ _

___“Lottie and Fi know about both, as well,” Louis said._ _ _

___“Also,” Harry added, “my friends down in the kitchen know about my feelings for you.”_ _ _

___Louis brought his hands to his face, sighing heavily. “I want to command you to run, should things turn dire,” he said into his palms. “But I know that you won’t.” He sat up, glaring down at Harry where he still lay on the bed. “Do you understand what might happen? They’ve already gotten hold on Mum’s mind, so they could have you executed! Cowell or whoever it is, they could declare that _you_ are the traitor, that you’ve ensorcelled me, and they could execute you for it, long before your mum got here, long before the Council sent someone to investigate.” _ _ _

___He was yelling, angrier than Harry had ever seen—or more desperate, Harry realized, as Louis turned away, wiping at his eyes._ _ _

___There were no words Harry could offer as comfort; while he thought himself more than a match for most of the court mages, he didn’t truly know any offensive magicks and had never been formally trained in anything but the lore. And to say he’d leave Louis and his sisters to fend for themselves against the conspirators was a lie Louis wouldn’t pretend to believe this time._ _ _

___There were no words, so instead Harry got up on his knees and leaned against Louis’ back, wrapping his arms around him. His hands met and then covered Louis’ hands, already curled around the two charms hanging from his neck._ _ _

___“I don’t know what to say,” Harry whispered into Louis’ hair. “I don’t know what to do. But I will do what I can, and I’ll give you all that I am, and there is nowhere I would rather go than wherever you are.”_ _ _

___“You utter sap, Harold,” Louis replied after a moment, just as softly. “And it’s mad, you know, that I think I might fight wars in your name, would burn down kingdoms to keep you safe.”_ _ _

___Something settled, deep within Harry, in that spark of magick Mum had always said was what the priests preached about—the soul. Everyone had it, Mum said, even the least-magical person in the world. Something settled, as Louis turned his head to kiss Harry’s lips, and Harry thought, _Yes, of course it was you, always_. _ _ _

___“I might need another lesson,” Louis said, slithering around in Harry’s arms and then toppling them over so that he could straddle Harry. “And then, once we’ve both freshened ourselves up, you’ll be accompanying my sisters and I on a trip to some artisan exhibit Lottie wants to see.”_ _ _

___“I’ll be doin’ that, shall I?” Harry asked, smirking up at him._ _ _

___Louis own smirk back was quite wicked. “Should I make it a Royal Order, Apprentice Styles?”_ _ _

___Harry truly couldn’t help the giggle, throwing his head back while touching Louis just because he actually could now._ _ _

___“I am quite serious about the lesson, you know,” Louis murmured, leaning over to nibble at Harry’s collarbone._ _ _

___“You seem to be doing well enough,” Harry said and then Louis bit down so hard Harry had to gasp. “What of the servants?” he managed, digging his fingers into Louis’ thighs._ _ _

___“The day is mine,” Louis said, pressing a kiss to the skin he’d just savaged. “I got Mum’s permission yesterday.”_ _ _

___“Then there is time, I suppose,” Harry said, and Louis moved to the other collarbone._ _ _

___…_ _ _

___During the ride to the exhibition, Petal and Bee decided to challenge each other to name all ten of the suitors for Louis’ hand, and refused Fi and Lottie’s offers to help. While Bee knew most of their names, Petal had one gone step further and listed their parents, as well, so Louis and Harry both congratulated her while Bee pouted the slightest bit before asking, “Why are none of them heirs, Lou? Shouldn’t a Crown Prince marry someone of the same rank?”_ _ _

___Harry’s smile shrank a little and he looked out the window. Lottie answered, “Because whoever Lou marries won’t stay in their own lands, Bee.”_ _ _

___Bee frowned, working through that while Louis tried to catch Harry’s eye. Finally, Harry glanced over as Bee said, “So they can’t be heirs because they won’t be ruling their own places?”_ _ _

___“Exactly,” Fi said. “Crown Princes and Princesses remain in their nation of origin, but the four of us may end up somewhere completely different.”_ _ _

___Bee seemed satisfied with that, and Harry was smiling again, and then Petal turned to Harry to demand, “Tell us more about the Winter Rebellion.”_ _ _

___Harry laughed softly. “What would you like to know, Princess Daisy?”_ _ _

___She sighed, throwing her hands up. “Everything,” she said as though it were obvious._ _ _

___“The ride isn’t near long enough for that, Highness,” Harry told her seriously, “but I can at least begin with how the Rebellion started.”_ _ _

___._ _ _

___Lottie’s artisan was quite talented, Louis thought, wandering through the exhibition. Multiple bodyguards were spread throughout the area, along with a few of Cowell’s mages: all five of the royal children were present, outside of the palace, and rumor had it that Prince Zain would visit the show later, as well, because the artisan was Malkan._ _ _

___“Your Highness,” the artisan said as Louis approached a sculpture made of—glass and light? “Thank you for coming. I’m Caroline Watson.”_ _ _

___“It’s quite remarkable,” Louis said, giving her a smile as he circled the sculpture. “How did you do this?”_ _ _

___He barely followed her explanation, but her passion shone through and as she trailed off, Louis nearly reached out to touch the piece; thankfully, he caught himself in time._ _ _

___“This is… stunning,” he said, glancing over at Harry, who was discussing another piece with Bee. “Is this for sale, Mistress Watson?”_ _ _

___Her eyes widened. “Well, it wasn’t,” she admitted. “But to be honest, I’m afraid it might break if I try to travel with it.” She chuckled, “I’ll be going to Payen soon, y’see, and then home to Malka. This is one of my larger, more fragile creations.”_ _ _

___“I’ll give you 80 gold for it,” Louis said._ _ _

___Mistress Watson gaped at him. “100?” he offered, thinking it worth so much more than that. Any price she wanted, he could match._ _ _

___“Your Highness,” she said. “Please, tell me. What is it about this piece that’s captivated you?”_ _ _

___He turned from her to study the sculpture. It was transparent but caught and held light, shaped like waves or flames or— “There aren’t words,” he said. “But when I look at this, Craftswoman, I see someone I care for very much. It’s as if this…” He paused, searching for the perfect phrase, chewing on his lip. “Perhaps this piece has captured his essence,” he finally said._ _ _

___The longer he looked at it, the more he thought it matched Harry. And he wanted it._ _ _

___“If I were to sell this piece,” Mistress Watson told him, “based on the time it took and the care put into it, I would ask 50 gold. Maybe 60.” He turned to meet her gaze. She was an older woman, older than Mum, at least, dressed in a bright and cheery blouse paired with darker trousers, with her dark hair piled on her head. “I enjoyed creating it, Your Highness,” she said. “But it never told me its name, so I know it is not intended for me to keep.” She nodded firmly. “I’ll gift it to you.”_ _ _

___“No,” he protested. “100 gold.”_ _ _

___Mistress Watson raised an eyebrow. “Are you truly demanding I accept a payment for something I’d happily give you simply for knowin’ it’d be more than appreciated with you?”_ _ _

___“Yes,” Louis said firmly._ _ _

___“Lou!” Fi called from the corner, where she’d been marveling at something from all sides. “Come see this!”_ _ _

___“100 gold,” he repeated. “I’ll be back for this piece.”_ _ _

___“Of course, Your Highness,” Mistress Watson said with a soft laugh. “Please, enjoy the rest of the exhibition.”_ _ _

___._ _ _

___Fi had a few pieces she wanted to show him, and then one of the attendants had a question about the public being allowed in yet, and then Preston decided that their time allotted to being out and about had come to an end, so Louis had to convince Bee and Petal to not raise a fuss until they were in private. He caught Harry’s eye and nodded towards his remaining sisters, so Harry collected them both._ _ _

___“Thank you, Mistress Watson,” Louis said, bowing formally as his sisters swept into curtsies. “And I’ll send a man for that sculpture with the agreed-upon price by the end of the week.”_ _ _

___“Of course, Your Highness,” Mistress Watson replied, curtsying as well. “Thank you for attending.”_ _ _

___“What sculpture?” Lottie asked as they all trumped out to the carriage waiting for them. “I didn’t know anything was for sale!” She nearly pouted before remembering they must wear their public faces during all outings._ _ _

___“Make a note of which pieces you wanted,” Louis murmured, handing each of his sisters into the carriage, Lottie last. He gestured for Harry to precede him, as well, but Harry balked, glancing at everyone watching. Louis raised an eyebrow because there was nothing improper about seeing Harry into the carriage first: Harry was his guest, after all._ _ _

___Harry gave in first and Louis, as befitted a prince, did not let any of his smug satisfaction show._ _ _

___._ _ _

___All the way out of the city, Bee and Petal argued about which piece had been the prettiest. Fi and Harry were discussing sculpting techniques, and Lottie kept describing the pieces she wanted to purchase because it wasn’t fair that Louis had been able to buy one._ _ _

___Louis startled when the anchor charm warmed against his skin, and as he was looking towards Harry, his sisters all gasped as the five bird charms reacted at once._ _ _

___“That,” Harry said softly, “was a serious attempt.” He met Louis’ gaze. “I’ll send another message to Mum.”_ _ _

___“Lou?” Lottie said, voice shaking. “What was that?” Fi had a tight grip on Harry’s hand, and the twins were pressed close together, and whoever would _dare_ try mind-magicking his little sisters would be executed, whatever it took. _ _ _

___“That,” Louis said gently, scrambling for the best explanation, “was someone tryin’ to use mind-arts on us.”_ _ _

___“Shouldn’t we tell Mage Cowell?” both twins asked, and Louis shook his head._ _ _

___“No, my sweets,” he replied, holding out his arms so they could throw themselves across the carriage. He held them as tight as he could. “You must be big girls,” he told the twins, sending comforting smiles to Lottie and Fi. “We can trust Harry but everyone else is suspect, and it’s going to be very hard, I know.” He cupped the back of both their heads as he said, “Daisy, Phoebe,” and they looked up at him. “You can’t go to Mum about this. Not about the magic, not about the protection charms, not about Mage Cowell or any of the court mages.”_ _ _

___“Not even Mum?” Petal whispered and the charms all lit up again._ _ _

___“Not even Mum,” Louis said, keeping his voice steady through sheer rage. Resting his cheek on Bee’s head, he murmured, “I’m very sorry, but she’s already been bespelled.” He called softly, “Harry, your mum needs to get here soonest.” He glanced over to see Lottie and Fi tucked against Harry, and he couldn’t even smile at the sight._ _ _

___For just a moment, it seemed that there was pressure building around them, something warm on the air, but then as Harry closed his eyes and sighed, it went away, whatever it was._ _ _

___“I’ll feed more power into the charms,” Harry said, and there was something off about his tone, but Louis had to focus on the girls._ _ _

___._ _ _

___By the time the carriage rolled to a stop at the royals’ private entrance, the girls were mostly back to normal. “Stay with them,” Louis murmured to Harry, so Harry followed the girls further into the palace while Louis summoned two attendants. “Paper?” he asked and the woman handed him a tablet with paper affixed, as well as a quill charmed to always be inked. “This is to go to the treasury,” he said once he’d finished the note. “I’ve authorized up to 500 gold to be pulled from my personal funds.” Like all the quills used in the palace, it’d been charmed for the royal seal so he pressed the tip of the quill against his forefinger and signed. He folded the note and handed it to the man. “This one,” he said, “is to be returned to Mistress Caroline Watson, the artisan we visited today.” He couldn’t remember each piece’s name or designation, so he jotted down the descriptions his sisters used. “I’d like to purchase everything on this list,” he said, signing it and folding it._ _ _

___He handed the second note and tablet back to the woman and then told them both, “Once it’s decided who will be handling this, have them come see me for final instructions.”_ _ _

___“Of course, Highness,” they said in tandem before inclining their heads and hurrying away._ _ _

___Louis sighed and stretched out his arms, still so furious he was glad he didn’t have magic because it would surely be lashing out. Of course, if he _did_ have magic of his own, he could confront the conspirators and blast them out of existence. _ _ _

___“Highness?” a small voice called._ _ _

___He turned, noting Preston’s continued looming presence to the side, to see a young girl barely outside the door. She couldn’t be much older than Fi and she was clearly terrified._ _ _

___“Can I help you, miss?” he asked gently, not stepping any closer, relaxing everything about himself._ _ _

___“I, I was cleaning Princess Félicité’s quarters and was sent to tell you,” she managed, pausing for a deep breath, wringing her hands so tightly it must surely hurt, “that Their Highnesses would be in Princess Félicité’s quarters.”_ _ _

___“Thank you,” Louis said. Preston took a step forward and the girl looked at him, shrinking back, so Louis shot him a glare. “If my sisters are in Princess Félicité’s quarters, have you been assigned somewhere else to work?”_ _ _

___“No, no, Highness,” she answered, managing to look even more terrified. There was something wrong about it; it surely wasn’t mere nerves at being in a royal’s presence._ _ _

___“See Barbara in the kitchens,” Louis ordered, tone gentle. “I’m sure she’ll have a few small tasks for you, to keep you busy.”_ _ _

___“Thank you, Highness,” she said, dropping into a loose curtsy._ _ _

___“What is your name?” he asked._ _ _

___Without looking up from the curtsy, she said, “Cher, Your Highness.”_ _ _

___She still didn’t move, so he gave her the dismissal she was clearly waiting for: “That’ll be all, Cher. Thank you.”_ _ _

___She turned and fled. He watched her go, sure there was something wrong, and sure that if he tried finding out himself, he’d just make things worse._ _ _

___“That girl could’ve been an assassin, Highness,” Preston told him sharply._ _ _

___“An assassin wouldn’t have sought my attention,” Louis replied. He rubbed at his temple, where he could feel an ache forming. “I’ll be joining my sisters now.”_ _ _

___Preston harrumphed but didn’t protest, so Louis went back to ignoring him._ _ _

___._ _ _

___Harry was in the middle of telling the girls a funny story as Louis let himself into Fi’s personal room. The twins had claimed Fi’s bed while Fi had curled up on the windowseat and Lottie was sprawled on the armchair in a position that surely couldn’t be comfortable. Harry had settled on the floor between the bed and the window, legs stretched out. It was after midday so Louis waited ’til Harry paused in the story to ask, “Are any of you hungry?” His sisters all nodded and Harry resumed the story as Louis stepped out of the room to order the nearest guard, “Send word to the kitchens—I’d like a simple lunch brought to Princess Félicité’s room, enough for six people.”_ _ _

___“Yes, Highness,” the guard said, so Louis returned in time to hear the punchline of the story and see Petal and Bee double over laughing while Fi giggled and Lottie rolled her eyes._ _ _

___“Well, if it’s that funny,” Louis said, throwing himself across Fi’s bed and landing on the twins’ legs, “I’d like to hear a story, too.”_ _ _

___Harry smiled and asked, “Would any of you like to hear about the time my sister turned a goat bright purple?”_ _ _

___Of course they all did._ _ _

___._ _ _

___All throughout their late lunch and for most of the afternoon, Louis and Harry remained in Fi’s room with the girls; even Lottie, who would’ve usually wanted to have at least an hour to herself, made no hint that she wanted to leave. For Louis, there was relief in having them in sight and obviously safe. He wondered if it was his presence or Harry’s they were drawing comfort from, and wasn’t sure which he’d prefer. He himself drew comfort from being around Harry._ _ _

___“We’re having dinner with Mum,” Lottie finally said as sunset neared. “Just us girls.” She fidgeted with her hands. “Are… are we safe, if she’s under a thrall?”_ _ _

___“Yes,” Harry replied, something heavy and final in the word. He glanced up to meet Louis’ eyes before pointedly looking at each of Louis’ baby sisters. “If at any moment you feel like you’re in danger,” he said, “so long as that charm is touching your skin, I’ll know. I can’t—” He sighed and shook his head. “I’m no battle mage. I don’t know the spells or hexes or curses that Gemma does, and I’m sure that most of the court mages do. In a magical battle, I might lose.”_ _ _

___“You’re meant to be comfortin’ them, Harold,” Louis said dryly, reaching out to tug on the part of Petal’s hair that had escaped her maidservant’s elaborate get-up._ _ _

___Harry laughed. “What I mean is,” he explained, looking directly at Lottie, “I don’t have the knowledge of offensive magick—but I don’t need it, not for this. I can’t blast someone out of existence like battle mages do, but I can make it so that they can’t see or hear or sense you at all. I don’t…” He shook his head, huffing in annoyance as he searched for the words. “I don’t know how to say it,” is what he finally settled on. “But I swear to you, to each of you, that I will do all I can to keep you safe.”_ _ _

___“They need to touch our skin?” Fi asked._ _ _

___Harry nodded. “They’ve been warded so that only people who know about them can see them. Don’t ever take them off, not for anything.”_ _ _

___“Weren’t you going to strengthen them?” Louis reminded him and Harry gave him that wide, lovely, dimpled smile in return._ _ _

___“Already did, Highness,” he said._ _ _

___“Thank you, Harry,” Lottie said, rising to her feet. “Come along, girls, we need to freshen up for dinner with Mum.”_ _ _

___Petal and Bee gave Louis a shared hug before sliding off the bed to hug Harry while Fi uncurled herself from the windowseat. “Thank you,” she murmured to Harry, waving to Louis as she joined Lottie by the door._ _ _

___“If you have any questions,” Harry said, “any of you. Whatever it is, just ask. I want you safe, and I want you happy.”_ _ _

___“Because you’re friends with Louis?” Petal asked, tilting her head in an adorable imitation of Mum’s elegance._ _ _

___“No, Highness,” Harry said, rolling to his feet so that he could give all four of them his most regal bow. “Because you’re all my friends, too.”_ _ _

___Petal grinned up at him. Lottie smiled indulgently down at her before opening the door, saying, “Come along, we need to find one of our bodyservants to help get us ready.”_ _ _

___“Bye!” the twins called, following her out. Fi was last and she glanced back to ask quietly, “Can we trust anyone?”_ _ _

___“No,” Louis replied, just as softly._ _ _

___Fi nodded resolutely and hurried after their sisters._ _ _

___“If I had magic,” Louis snarled, “I’d be lighting things on fire right now.”_ _ _

___Harry sighed._ _ _

___…_ _ _

___Of course, with the princesses gone, staying in Princess Félicité’s room was hardly proper. Harry followed as Louis swept into the hall, his rage obvious (to Harry, at least) in every line of his body. Harry wasn’t sure where they were going until they were nearly there, and then Louis stormed into the haunted garden. Most of the residents of the palace were frightened of it, but it had been Harry’s sanctuary since he began his apprenticeship. It had welcomed him, and he’d never been able to articulate why. There was simply _magick_ present, from the plants that refused to die to the air that was always pleasantly warm but never too hot in the summer and pleasantly cool but never too cold in the winter. Harry kept the flowers company whenever he needed a moment’s peace and they greeted him cheerfully each time he returned. He threw up a very weak privacy charm but it was bolstered by the latent magick of the garden. _ _ _

___Louis stood in the middle of the garden, fists clenched, body tensed, eyes closed; Harry watched, taking a bit of comfort from the latent magick flowing out of the ground. He was somewhat surprised when he noticed that instead of coming to him, as was usual, the magick went to Louis instead._ _ _

___“I want them dead,” Louis finally said. The words weren’t angry. Louis’ tone wasn’t frightened. The declaration simply _was_ , a certainty that would happen. He turned to look at Harry, and it was Crown Prince Louis William Marcus Alexander of Pallston, who would in time become King Louis IX, who said, “They will die, whoever they are, whatever their aim.” _ _ _

___“So mote it be,” Harry whispered._ _ _

___It wasn’t his magick that replied with a caress to Louis’ cheek, though Harry felt it, too, before the latent magick faded back into the garden._ _ _

___“I suppose that’s why they say this place is haunted,” Louis mused, a bit of mirth peeking through, finally. The tension left his shoulders and it was Harry’s friend back, grinning at him, like the man from a moment before had never been._ _ _

___“When I first got here,” Harry said, “whenever I needed peace, I’d come here. I didn’t understand why everyone was so frightened of it.”_ _ _

___“Even the mages are,” Louis said, dropping to sit on the ground and falling backward to stare up at the darkening sky. “They have been for centuries, according to palace gossip.”_ _ _

___Harry snickered, settling beside him. “If there are ghosts here, they mean no harm.”_ _ _

___He didn’t strengthen the charm, unwilling to risk it after the severity of the conspirators’ attempt, so he barely put his hand over Louis’, hidden between their bodies._ _ _

___“Tell me a story that ends with happily ever after,” Louis whispered._ _ _

___“Do you know of the mermaid who dreamt of flying?” Harry asked. Louis shook his head, so Harry said, “It began a long time ago, of course, with a young mermaid who wondered as she watched birds diving into the ocean and then escaping back into the sky.”_ _ _

___Louis listened as he stared up at the sky, and Harry rambled on for hours, making it up as he went, watching Louis._ _ _

___._ _ _

___Long after sunset, Harry snuck into the kitchens to find something for dinner, Louis snickering as he tiptoed behind him. “I feel like a proper rogue,” Louis said, peering around corners._ _ _

___“It’ll only be a few minutes until the staff come in to begin prepping for the feast tomorrow,” Harry said._ _ _

___“And I can’t be seen down here, I know,” Louis said. He paused to open a door, gazing into the dark storeroom. “But would it really matter? I get into mischief all the time, as you well know, Harold.”_ _ _

___Which was a very good point, actually. But as Louis turned to look at him, Harry saw the thin chain disappearing into his shirt and remembered what was at risk._ _ _

___“Highness,” he said hesitantly._ _ _

___Louis’ stood up straight, pulling on his most regal stare. “If you dare suggest,” Louis said, “that we cease spending time together, I will give that all the consideration it deserves.”_ _ _

___Harry opened his mouth, though to say what he didn’t know, when Louis raised an eyebrow. “Apprentice Styles,” he said, still in that icy cold tone Harry loathed, “you must decide what is right for _you_.” He waited a moment, still just staring at Harry, and then nodded. “I’ll be in my quarters.” He turned on his heel and stalked out. _ _ _

___And, well. Harry grabbed whatever was in reach and then chased after him._ _ _

___._ _ _

___Neither of them said a thing until they were safely in Louis’ private quarters, and Harry tossed up the most powerful privacy ward he could, still holding the magically-preserved pheasant and half a loaf of bread. He stood just inside the door, waiting for Louis to acknowledge him, trying to ignore the panic clawing in the back of his mind, all the ways things could go wrong._ _ _

___The mind-arts earlier, it was the most powerful magick Harry had ever felt in his life. Whoever it was, if he tried to stand against them—he honestly didn’t know if he’d be able to. He’d never had any skill at the mind-arts himself, so when he and the princesses had reached Princess Félicité’s room, he’d gone to the window and created a construct. He couldn’t send for Mum mentally, the way she could with Robin, and giving the message to any creature would take too long._ _ _

___Surely, wherever Mum was, this would take precedence. So he fashioned a bird out of wishing and wind, the way he had when he was a boy and didn’t know it shouldn’t be possible, and he whispered to it, “Mum, I need you. Please, as soon as you can. I don’t know what to do.” He let go and it flew._ _ _

___Harry had been fighting panic and rage and a hatred he truly didn’t want to feel since he was sat in that carriage, since that oily mind tried to slide into Louis and the girls, since his magick flared out wanting to _burn_. He’d grounded it immediately, ignored everything to keep the girls calm, and sent for help. He poured so much magick into the charms _again_ that he should’ve been unconscious on the ground but instead he felt buoyant and exhilarated, as though he’d woken up from the best night’s sleep of his life. _ _ _

___“Apprentice Styles,” Louis said, back still to him. “What is right for you?”_ _ _

___At heart, Harry realized, tracing the line of Louis’ shoulders with his eyes, he was a hedgewitch. Mum and Gemma, they’d never be loyal to any one court over another, any nation or monarch or people. Journeymages had to be objective, had to treat _everyone_ the same, no matter where or who they were. But Harry, he wanted to settle in and put down roots and have a home, somewhere that was _his_ to cherish and to protect. _ _ _

___Three years as Louis’ best friend; four before that, wanting to join in on the game in the marketplace; and perhaps, working in the kitchens of Louis’ palace for the rest of his life would’ve been enough. Always being Louis’ friend, making sure his court was the safest it could be._ _ _

____What is right for you?_ _ _ _

___“You are,” Harry said. “And I can’t promise I won’t try to pull back again, because I have no idea what I’m doing. But if everything else is ignored, if it’s just me and it’s just you, then you’re all I want, Louis.”_ _ _

___Louis sighed heavily, shoulders sagging, and he turned. “I haven’t the faintest idea what I’m doing either,” he admitted. “But it’ll never just be me and just be you. There’s Pallston, and my family, and all the other realms that depend on us.” He sighed again, closing his eyes, and when he opened them a moment later, he once again pulled on the elegant arrogance he wore in Court, a man he’d never really been around Harry. “Harry Styles of Holmes Chapel,” he said, “do you truly wish to become Prince Consort of Pallston?”_ _ _

___“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. “But I’d like to be your husband quite a lot.”_ _ _

___The court mask broke and Harry recognized the relief in Louis’ laughter. “You’ll be Prince Consort and Court Mage in one, Harold,” he said, before striding forward, taking the pheasant and bread from Harry to drop both on the floor, reaching up to so gently hold Harry’s face, and telling him, “I’ll have you thrown in the stocks the next time you frighten me like that.”_ _ _

___“We don’t even have stocks anymore,” Harry replied, unable to stop glancing between Louis’ eyes and mouth._ _ _

___“I’ll bring them back especially for the purpose,” Louis said, and then finally he lunged up, smiling into what Harry could honestly admit was the best kiss he’d ever had._ _ _

___…_ _ _

___It rained the morning of Grand Duke Nicolò’s arrival. At least, it rained until the Grand Duke’s party reached the capitol, which Louis only knew because he was watching Harry watch the rain as it fell past the window. Harry, it seemed, thoroughly enjoyed rain. Louis thoroughly enjoyed Harry in all his glory standing at the window, Louis’ marks still on him._ _ _

___“Well, that’s just rude,” Harry muttered, shaking Louis out of his haze._ _ _

___“What is?” he asked, sitting up and stretching. It couldn’t be much past nine o’clock, and Eton would be in promptly at half past._ _ _

___“A weather-witch just sent the rain away,” Harry said with a scoff, turning away from the window._ _ _

___“Right.” Louis blinked then shook his head. “I sometimes forget just what all magic can do.”_ _ _

___“Mum’s a weather-witch,” Harry said as he searched for his clothes. “There’s all sorts of rules for it. You’re not supposed to just, just mess with the weather all willy-nilly. ’s’dangerous and irresponsible.”_ _ _

___Louis smirked. “So could I have this weather-witch thrown in the stocks?”_ _ _

___Harry laughed, pulling on his trousers. “You could,” he said. “But as I know there are no weather-witches living close enough to have done it, I assume it’s one of the mages from Festano.” He foolishly stepped within reach, so Louis snagged him by the hip and tried to pull him close, but Harry just laughed again, leaned down for a far too brief kiss, and then stepped away._ _ _

___Louis pouted at him but Harry finished dressing, blew him a kiss, and disappeared through the door. Louis assumed he had some minor invisibility charm every time he snuck into or out of Louis’ rooms because none of the guards or servants ever mentioned it, and he always forgot to ask. But Harry couldn’t have been gone for five minutes before Eton burst in shouting, “They’re early!”_ _ _

___“What the fuck!” Louis shouted, having been almost asleep again._ _ _

___“The Festanos have arrived!” Eton screeched. “Highness, get out of bed!”_ _ _

___“They’re, what, half a day early?” Louis groaned. “Fuck.”_ _ _

___Eton glared at him, clearly almost to the point of physically dragging Louis out of bed. “I’m getting up,” Louis said. “Honest.” He took one more moment to savor the comfort of his bed and then slipped out from under the blanket._ _ _

___._ _ _

___While Louis had never been poorly dressed at any greeting of his suitors, Eton insisted on Louis’ third-best suit for the Grand Duke because his first-best would be at the wedding, and his second-best reserved for the god-awful ball in a few days’ time. Dressing was quite rushed because Louis needed to be at the stairs at the moment of arrival, which was actually quite rude of the Festanos, not that Louis would be saying anything about it. Unfortunately._ _ _

___But things with Festano were always slightly fraught, which was another reason Louis would need to have the best argument in the world for choosing Harry. Louis didn’t know much of the Grand Duke Nicolò or his brother the Imperial Prince Affonso, but His Imperial Majesty Emperor Michele seemed decent enough, especially compared to the vast majority of his ancestors._ _ _

___Louis just managed to beat the Festanos to the grandest entrance and he swept into his most extravagant bow. “Welcome,” he announced._ _ _

___“Well met,” Grand Duke Nicolò said, barely inclining his head enough to be polite. “I should like a bath,” he added, frowning slightly as he glanced around the hall. “And I’m not to be disturbed until lunch, which should be fish of some kind.” He swept past Louis, cloak swirling around him dramatically. It was entirely too warm to be wearing a cloak. “Surely you have a servant that can guide us?” the brat tossed over his shoulder. “Come along, _Prince_ Louis, do keep up.”_ _ _

___Louis exhaled slowly, keeping the smile on his face. “Of course, _Grand Duke_ Nicolò,” he said as sweetly as he could. He caught the nearest guard’s eye. “If you’d but wait a moment, an escort will show you to the suite that is yours for the duration of this event.” _ _ _

___“If I must,” the arsehole muttered. Louis covertly examined his retinue, trying to figure out which of them was the weather-witch. He graciously ignored the twat’s comments in Festanta, pretending total ignorance of the language, though each one just pissed him off more._ _ _

___“Highness,” an attendant said as she approached, dropping into a curtsey._ _ _

___“Thank you,” Louis replied. “Please, show our guests to their assigned quarters.” As he turned to address the Grand Arsewipe, he noticed that one of the man’s staff was eying the attendant quite obviously and vulgarly. He glanced back to the attendant and murmured, “If you feel uncomfortable with anyone or anything, I want to be informed personally, miss.”_ _ _

___She smiled slightly. “I heard what you did for Cher, Highness,” she told him just as quietly._ _ _

___“We are waiting,” the Grand Arsewipe bleated._ _ _

___“Once they’re settled, come see me,” Louis ordered. “We need to discuss something.”_ _ _

___“Yes, Highness,” she said, curtsying. He stepped aside and she announced, “Your Imperial Highness, please follow me.”_ _ _

___Louis kept his eyes on the member of the party who was eying her hungrily, now. He caught that same guard’s gaze and jerked his head towards where everyone was going up the stairs and the man nodded, falling into line with the Festanos._ _ _

___Louis could only hope that the Imperial Prince Affonso was a better man than his brother._ _ _

___With nothing else to do, Louis returned to his quarters to wait in the front room for the attendant to arrive._ _ _

___._ _ _

___“Your Highness,” Preston said as he opened the door. “An attendant requests an audience.”_ _ _

___“Send her in,” Louis replied, setting aside his book. The attendant hurried in and curtsied while Louis dismissed Preston, who glared at him but went without protest. “Please, sit,” Louis told her. “What’s your name?”_ _ _

___“Rebecca, Highness,” she said, sinking into the chair nearest the door. She hesitated slightly before asking, “How may I be of service?”_ _ _

___Louis grimaced, shaking his head. “If any of our guests are demanding sexual favors, I want to know about it,” he said, deciding that tiptoeing around the topic was pointless._ _ _

___She stared at him for a moment before looking down at her hands. “There was one I heard about,” she said after nearly a minute passed in silence. “But he was a mage, part of Lord Wynn’s group, and he was stupid enough to be in Mage Byrn’s hearing.”_ _ _

___Louis chuckled in satisfaction. “Well, that’s good. Lord Wynn hasn’t raised a fuss about it.”_ _ _

___“The mage surely wouldn’t have told him,” Rebecca said, relaxing slightly and looking back up at him._ _ _

___“And what of the Pallston nobility in residence?” Louis asked._ _ _

___Her gaze dropped to her hands again._ _ _

___“I know my mother’s policies,” Louis said. “Rape is neither condoned nor legal, no matter the ranks of anyone.” She kept silent, so Louis tried, “You thanked me for sending Cher to the kitchens. Why?”_ _ _

___Rebecca opened her mouth before thinking better of whatever it was. Louis waited and then she said, “I’ve a small talent for summoning things, so I’m usually in with the historians and researchers. Cher is—she doesn’t have magic, Highness, though all of her family do. And she was assigned to the western wing, where the nobility’s residences are.”_ _ _

___Louis nodded, gritting his teeth. “I don’t know who,” Rebecca continued. “But Cher’s a good girl. She wouldn’t raise a fuss about it, whatever _policies_ there are.” Her eyes widened and she dropped her gaze again. _ _ _

___“I’ll inform the Steward of a new rule,” Louis said. “All servants are to be in pairs at all times.” He tilted his head, considering her. “As an attendant, Rebecca, do you think it would help to pair servants and attendants? I’m sure not all talents would be useful if something happened, but each of you have connected charms, right?”_ _ _

___“It would, yes,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “I see why they all like you,” she murmured, and he pretended he didn’t hear. “Mistress Cole knows our talents and Mage Byrne has charge of us, so we should be paired off to everyone’s satisfaction.”_ _ _

___“Good,” Louis said. “Rebecca.” She looked up to meet his gaze. “This is a Royal Order, attendant: should you learn of anyone else being assaulted, whoever the perpetrator and whoever the victim, you are to tell me as soon as you possibly can.”_ _ _

___She inclined her head. “Yes, Highness.”_ _ _

___He waited another moment before saying, “You are dismissed.”_ _ _

___Rebecca stood and curtsied. “Thank you, Highness,” she murmured and he watched her go, waiting until the door closed behind her to rest his head in his hands. He gave himself a few minutes of peace before standing and stepping into the hall to ask, “Where are the Queen and the Steward?”_ _ _

___Preston and Louis’ usual door guard shared a glance. “I shall find out, Highness,” the guard said, waiting for Preston’s nod of dismissal to hurry away._ _ _

___“What are you up to now?” Preston asked._ _ _

___Louis knew his smile was strained. “My duties,” he said, sighing heavily._ _ _

___._ _ _

___The final meeting included not only Mum and Mistress Cole but also Sergeant Higgins and Mage Byrne. Louis presented the facts without names and then asked, “Mistress Cole, could we begin pairing off servants as they go about their duties? With so many strangers around, I just feel it would be better.”_ _ _

___Mage Byrne looked quite angry, and Mistress Cole wasn’t much happier. “That should be fine, Highness,” she answered, “if Her Majesty agrees.”_ _ _

___Mum nodded. “See that it is done,” she ordered. Then, “Sergeant Higgins, have your men keep watch, as well.”_ _ _

___“Yes, Majesty,” he said, making sure to catch Louis’ eye and mouth, _Good job, lad._ _ _ _

___“All of you are dismissed,” Mum said, “except my son.”_ _ _

___“Come along, Mage Byrne,” Mistress Cole said. “We’re scheduling a household meeting for the soonest date possible. Tomorrow?”_ _ _

___“I’ll inform mine,” Mage Byrne said as they bustled off together, Sergeant Higgins following after bowing to Louis and Mum._ _ _

___“I implemented those policies after Father’s death,” Mum said, watching Louis expectantly. “But you’ve never much noticed the servants.” He went to argue and she added, “Yes, you treat them respectfully, I know; I raised you and your sisters to see everyone as people. But you still don’t notice them as they go about their duties any more than I do.”_ _ _

___He frowned, because that might’ve been true, once. But he had Stan, and then he had Harry—and Mum should’ve known that Louis had been interacting with the servants and cleaning up his own messes for years._ _ _

___So, lowering his gaze deferentially, he said, “Perhaps I’m maturing, Mum.”_ _ _

___“Well, either way, we’ll see to this problem,” Mum said. “Hopefully as quietly as possible. Mustn’t alert the guests, after all.”_ _ _

___“Of course, Majesty,” Louis murmured, bowing. “I’ll return to my duties now.”_ _ _

___“Yes, yes,” she replied, waving dismissively. “I’ll see you at the feast for the Grand Duke.”_ _ _

___He said nothing else as he took his leave, maintaining his expressionless court mask. They’d met in Mum’s tearoom, so his quarters were near enough—with a Watching Stone spying on him and Harry not there to counteract it. He couldn’t go to his sisters, and didn’t want to worry them even more, anyway. Harry was probably in the kitchens or offering to help prepare the dining hall._ _ _

___So Louis went down to the training yard, where a few of the off-duty guards and the knights in residence for the event were sparring._ _ _

___He had rage to spend._ _ _

___…_ _ _

___Harry found ways to make himself useful all day, first in the kitchens and then entertaining all of the servants’ children while the staff went into a frenzy because the final guests had arrived hours early. Lunch came and went, and Harry noticed that wherever he went with the children, there was always an attendant nearby where there usually wasn’t. After he returned the children to their usual caretaker (who’d been assigned emergency duties by the Steward), he stopped by the kitchen to ask Perrie and Leigh-Ann, “Did something happen today?”_ _ _

___They shared a look and then Perrie said, “Supposedly there’ll be a new rule announced tomorrow, that…” She paused, shaking her head._ _ _

___“Servants who work around the palace, the ones who are often alone,” Leigh-Ann picked up. “They’re to no longer _be_ alone.” _ _ _

___Harry tilted his head, thinking. He’d only ever truly worked in the kitchens, where no one was ever alone. But the maidservants, the bodyservants, the servants whose assigned tasks and areas were away from the crowd—_ _ _

___“Did something happen in particular?” he asked, bewildered._ _ _

___Perrie shrugged. “No one knows. But Mage Byrne and Mistress Cole were seen talking together.”_ _ _

___Mage Byrne, whose charge was the attendants, and Mistress Cole, whose charge was the palace staff. “Well, I suppose we’ll see what happens,” he said. “Are there any more tasks that need doin’?”_ _ _

___Leigh-Ann made shooing motions toward him. “You’ve a feast to be gettin’ ready for, silly boy. Hop to.” Perrie laughed, as did most of the workers around them, so Harry just shook his head at all of them and headed for his guest room._ _ _

___It had confused him when he first arrived at the palace, the extra branch in the magical hierarchy. Mum had taught him about hedgewitches, journeymages, royal mages, the Mage Council, and then the ArchMage. But at the palace, there were also attendants, servants with a bit of magic but not enough to be even a hedgewitch, usually with but a single talent and even then, barely noticeable. He’d sent Mum a letter about it but she hadn’t much of an explanation. The attendants were apparently unique to Pallston, and then only to the palace. He’d wondered about it, off and on throughout his time at the palace but if the Mage Council had never seen fit to explore it, it was probably nothing important._ _ _

___Once again, he was in the same clothes, the best of everything he owned. He sighed, looking at himself in the mirror, and though he did actually want to cast a glamor tonight, he didn’t dare. He ran his fingers through his hair and turned away, glancing around the suite. His father wasn’t a peasant by any means, and the Mage Council gave Mum more than enough money, and his room in the servant quarters had seemed so small, when he moved in. But it was entirely _his_ , with no one else’s touch, magical or otherwise. The guest room seemed so large in comparison. _ _ _

___He couldn’t even fathom what becoming Prince Consort would be like. And another of the suitors would probably be better for Pallston, with all the training and responsibility necessary—but would any of them be better for _Louis_? And it was perhaps selfish, and Harry loved Pallston, of course he did. But Pallston was Louis’ to care for, and Louis was _Harry’s_ to care for. _ _ _

___With that decided, he made his way to the dining hall and he held his head high._ _ _

___._ _ _

___Tonight, all of the princes were sitting with Queen Johannah and the Grand Duke at the head of the high table. Harry’s dining companions were Duke Walsh, Lord Grimshaw, Niall, Lord Wynn, and Ed._ _ _

___“I’ve another question for you about Pallstonien folk tales,” Ed told Harry as he sat down beside him. Niall was on Ed’s other side and already chatting with Lord Wynn and Lord Grimshaw about some policy that had all three of their fathers rattled._ _ _

___“Of course,” Harry said, keeping most of his attention on the ensuing conversation with Ed but part of it on Duke Walsh, who seemed very displeased about something._ _ _

___Queen Johannah stood and everyone instantly fell silent. “Our final guest has arrived,” she announced. “We welcome Grand Duke Nicolò of Festano.” The Grand Duke stood and smiled at the assembled crowd, mostly courtiers and knights. “As I name you,” Queen Johannah said, “will our other nine guests stand and be presented as suitors for Crown Prince Louis’ hand.”_ _ _

___Harry’s eyes widened and he sought Louis’ gaze; Louis smiled at him, reaching up to fiddle with the collar of his shirt, which Harry alone knew was actually him touching the chain of the protection charms._ _ _

___“Prince Aiden of Gryn,” Queen Johannah said. “Prince Liam of Payen. Prince Zain of Malka.”_ _ _

___Harry felt his own smile widen because hadn’t he already decided this? He alone had been chosen by Louis._ _ _

___“Duke Louis of Walsh,” Queen Johannah said. “Lord Benjamin of Wynn. Lord Niall of Mullingar. Lord Nicholas of Grimshaw.”_ _ _

___Louis tilted his head, still smiling, and Harry prepared to stand as Queen Johannah said, “Edward Sheeran.” Louis touched the chain again and Harry stood as Queen Johannah said, “Harry Styles.”_ _ _

___._ _ _

___Harry and Ed spent most of the feast discussing stories while the nobles’ conversation ranged from a pub Niall insisted Lord Wynn and Lord Grimshaw needed to try to Lord Grimshaw explaining his talent. Duke Walsh involved himself in neither._ _ _

___As the servers brought out dessert, Queen Johanna stood again. “My Council and I have prepared quite the event for our guests,” she said. “It will be a month-long extravaganza.” She smiled as pieces of parchment materialized in front of everyone; Harry glanced over it, ignoring everything except the four days marked as Tests. “Each week, a test will be presented to the suitors,” Queen Johannah explained. “Whether they pass or fail is up to Crown Prince Louis.” She looked at Louis. “Is there anything you’d like to tell our guests?”_ _ _

___Louis nodded, rising to his feet as his mother sat back down. “I understand,” he said, voice ringing throughout the hall, “that this event is unprecedented and I thank the men who have given it validity.” He glanced at each suitor, smiling, leaving Harry for last. “I hope that beyond the competition,” Louis added, “each of you find some enjoyment in what my realm has to offer, those of you who aren’t Pallstonien. Those who are, do us proud, yeah?” He inclined his head and sank back into his seat as the Pallstoniens cheered._ _ _

____Tests?_ Harry thought. That was ominous. _ _ _

___“I hope it’s not feats of strength,” Ed murmured, examining his own parchment._ _ _

___Harry shrugged. What would be, would be—but he would most definitely be winning._ _ _

___._ _ _

___After the feast, all of the suitors were summoned to a meeting chamber where they were informed by an attendant that Queen Johannah would provide more details on what was expected of them for the duration of their stay at the palace. While Harry was (mostly) sure of his place among nobility and royalty, he hung to the back of the chamber. No one else seemed the least bit nervous, but Harry knew that was probably their ability to mask their emotions that all nobles learned practically in the cradle and he hadn’t needed until all this marriage business started._ _ _

___Queen Johannah entered from a separate door, her Council with her: Sergeant Higgins, Mistress Cole, Mage Cowell, and the two Harry knew only by sight: Master Griffiths, Speaker of the Ministers, and Master Magee, Speaker of the Ambassadors. “Welcome,” the queen said again. “While we have many different events planned, you are not all required to attend each one.” She smiled, that same impish grin Louis wore quite often. “Your time is yours to do as you will, save for a few things that I must request you attend.” A piece of parchment appeared in her hand, a rough burst of magic that Harry had to ignore despite wanting to startle; he noticed that Lord Grimshaw flinched. Mage Cowell’s magic had always felt _sharp_. _ _ _

___“As you can see,” Queen Johannah said, “our very first event is the Welcome Ball, in two days’ time. I request that all of you attend, as it will be the first time our citizens will see you and the Crown Prince together.”_ _ _

___Harry definitely _did not_ have clothing suited for a ball. _ _ _

___“Whatever you do for the rest of the week,” Queen Johannah continued, “is entirely your prerogative though we do have events planned, until Saturday, when we will have the Presentation of the Courting Gifts and the first test.” She smiled again. “For the entirety of the month, you are each only required to attend the tests; whether you stay if you fail is your choice, though I do hope you each enjoy what we have planned.” She rolled the parchment up. “The Sabbath will be yours, of course, and there is one other free day a week. Any questions?”_ _ _

___As no one apparently had a question, Queen Johannah regally inclined her head and swept back out the door, her Council following._ _ _

___“I don’t have clothing good enough for a ball,” Harry hissed to Ed and Niall, the two closest to him._ _ _

___“Don’t worry,” Ed said, clapping him on the back. “I’m sure Aiden can rustle something up that’ll work.”_ _ _

___“And if he can’t,” Niall added, “one of my boys’ll be able to magick somethin’ up for you. Don’t worry about it.”_ _ _

___Grand Duke Nicolò stalked out first, brushing past everyone a bit rudely, Harry thought. Duke Walsh followed as Lord Grimshaw brought his hands together loudly. “Anyone want to join me for drinks?” he asked._ _ _

___“I suppose,” Prince Zain said and Niall laughed, “I’m always up for drinks!”_ _ _

___Ed left Harry to approach Prince Zain with a question about Malkan legends, and then Niall, Prince Aiden, and Lord Wynn were arguing with Lord Grimshaw about where to find the alcohol, and Prince Liam declared loudly, “I still have some of my grandfather’s special brew,” causing Prince Aiden to shout, “No!”_ _ _

___“Well, now I’m curious,” Lord Grimshaw said and Niall nodded, grinning._ _ _

___Harry wanted to leave, to find wherever Louis was, but this was his chance to learn about his competition. He’d never drunk much, and to be safe, he couldn’t now, not with the multiple secrets he needed to keep, but he was sure he could manage it. He’d just have to be careful._ _ _

___._ _ _

___“Hey, hey,” Ed muttered, tugging the tankard away from Harry’s fumbling fingers, “y’shou-should stop talkin’ ‘bout the prince.”_ _ _

___Harry had no idea why, as Louis was the best, most wonderful thing in the entirety of the world, but Ed was smart, wasn’t he? A proper minstrel like, with so many powerful people wanting his stories, which was a grand idea._ _ _

___“Tell us a story, Ed!” he shouted, immediately regretting it as that was quite loud, wasn’t it?_ _ _

___No one else seemed bothered, though, so Harry looked around the smaller dining hall they’d found, the eight of them taking it over. Prince Liam was the only one still obviously awake, save Harry, Ed, and Niall, and he was chatting with an attendant about something—the other suitors, apparently, as he gestured towards them and the attendant nodded._ _ _

___“I think you’ve had enough,” Niall said. “Ed, you got him or you need help?”_ _ _

___Ed laughed, trying to sling Harry’s arm around his shoulders. “I can manage it, Niall, thank y’kindly.”_ _ _

___“Alright, then I’ll deal with this sorry lot,” he said, lunging forward to keep Prince Aiden from sliding off the bench onto the floor._ _ _

___“Good luck, milord,” Ed said, nearly collapsing under Harry’s weight before finding his feet. “Come along, Mr. Styles,” he murmured, turning them towards the door. Servants were finally streaming in, following Prince Liam’s instructions, Harry assumed, but it was all just noise. He focused on his feet, trying to help Ed and mostly failing. Ed had some conversation with the guard and then there was a giggling woman and they were following her? But Harry kept all his attention on his feet and struggled so hard to not just fall asleep, and then they were in a room that greeted Harry cheerfully, the latent magick soaked into the walls welcoming him back, and he shouted, “Well met!” causing Ed to startle and nearly drop him._ _ _

___“Alright,” Ed said, “let’s just get you on the bed, yeah? You’ll be sorely regrettin’ this tomorrow.”_ _ _

___Harry laughed and the woman had disappeared at some point and after Harry felt secure sprawled across his bed, he asked, “’n’t Lou the most prettiestest?”_ _ _

___“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Ed said, stepping back. “Good night, Harry.” The door closed loudly behind him and the ceiling was _boring_ and the next thing Harry knew, a _painfully_ bright light was jabbing at him through his eyelids. _ _ _

___“You tried the special brew, didn’t you,” Louis murmured and Harry rolled over to bury his face in the pillow._ _ _


	3. The Tasks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the unfinished Part 3 of 5.

Harry was quite pathetic when hungover, Louis thought, gently petting Harry’s cheek. “I’m afraid I don’t know that wondrous potion of yours,” he said softly, leaning in close so Harry could still hear him. “Are you going to stay in bed all day?” 

“’til I die,” Harry mumbled. 

Louis laughed quietly. “Do you have any more of that potion stored somewhere? I had plans for us, y’know, Harold. It’ll be quite rude of you to just lounge about and leave me all to my lonesome.” He pouted playfully, not that Harry was in any state to notice.

Harry’s hand flopped in the direction of his armoire. “’s’green bottle.” He whimpered as Louis slipped off the bed, accidently jostling him. 

“Have you never been hungover before?” Louis asked. “Of course, the special brew definitely lives up to the name. I’ll have to get the recipe from Liam before he leaves.” He opened the cabinet, glancing along the row of bottles, all of them without labels. The green bottle was half-empty and he picked it up, turning to see that Harry’s head was now _under_ the pillow. 

Louis walked around the bed so that Harry would be jostled as little as possible and pulled the pillow away from his face. “I’ve the potion for you, love,” he said, “if this is the right green bottle.” 

Harry squinted at the bottle and barely nodded his head.

“How much do you need?” Louis asked.

“All’a’t,” Harry said, reaching for it. 

Louis pulled it back out of reach. “You should sit up first,” he said as Harry whined and pouted. “Unless you want to _wear_ the miraculous potion?” 

Muttering something Louis couldn’t make out, Harry rolled onto his back and slowly sat up, clutching at his head. “Poison,” he grumbled as he let his hand fall. 

“Liam’s grandfather’s special brew?” Louis asked. “Yes, I think so, too.” He reached out to steady Harry and then brought the bottle to him. Harry blinked at it uselessly, so Louis sighed, unstoppered it, and held the rim to Harry’s lips. Harry seemed to finally get the idea and drained all of it down. 

It wasn’t even a minute before the pain lines around his eyes smoothed out, his color brightened, and his eyes cleared, as he smiled up at Louis. “Hi,” he said, tugging the empty bottle out of Louis’ fingers so that he could clutch Louis’ hand. “What are these plans of yours?” 

Louis shrugged. “Nothing that important,” he said airily, kneeling beside Harry on the bed so that he was still the taller one. “Just, I thought maybe we could go back to the markets, relive our glory days.” 

Harry laughed, bringing their joined hands to his lips so he could kiss Louis’ knuckles. “I think that’s a grand idea.” 

.

Before sneaking into Harry’s room, Louis had slipped into his oldest clothes. They were still probably a touch too fine, but he ignored it. 

Harry pulled on a simple shirt and trousers, and then he raised an eyebrow at Louis’ clothes. “Highness,” he said, “I don’t think that will do.”

“And what’s wrong with it, Harold?” he demanded, spreading his arms and spinning in place. 

Harry giggled. “The trousers will work, but the shirt—d’ya _want_ people to notice you?”

Louis pouted, catching Harry’s eye and striping off the shirt. “Got somethin’ I can wear instead?”

Harry smiled. “I do, at that.” 

.

Before leaving Harry’s room, they discussed glamors and privacy charms, though they decided it was too much of a risk. So they walked through the capitol without any disguise more elaborate than Harry’s shirt and they talked about only what they saw or when they had visited the market before. They wandered through the marketplace and it hadn’t changed, of course. It was busier than was usual, even for a Saturday, as there were so many visitors due to the competition for Louis’ hand. It was quite foolish of Louis to sneak into town with so many unknowns, especially as he knew for a fact there was a conspiracy against him. 

But he had Harry. And he needed a moment’s peace, needed to be _Louis_ , not the Crown Prince, needed to remember how it felt to not be worried, not be angry, not be frightened all the bloody time. 

So to the marketplace it was. The stallholders and shopkeepers who had been there the longest greeted them with knowing smiles but made no other indication that they knew who Louis was. Harry’s shirt was a bit too big on him and while Louis wasn’t sure he liked it, he did enjoy the way Harry kept glancing at him and smiling.

People were very excited about the ball, apparently; the entire capitol had been invited and the Guild of Mages would be (somehow) sending images from the ball to all of Pallston. Louis wondered if it would involve that spell of recording music, and considered asking Duke Walsh for but a single moment. 

It was a fun morning, reminiscent of the early days, back when Louis hadn’t yet fully understood his station and how isolating it could be. 

“Lewis!” Harry called from a stall of small glass figures. “Come see this!”

“I’m busy, Harold,” Louis called back, in the midst of purchasing his brunch, a chicken leg, as neither of them had eaten breakfast. “Oh, add a second one,” he told the man, handing him a dozen pallastones. 

“Well, whenever you’re free,” Harry said as Louis took the chicken legs. Louis rolled his eyes fondly and made his way towards the glassblower’s stall, where he tried to sneak up on Harry and failed. 

“Thank you,” Harry said all prim and proper, taking his chicken. “Now, Lou, look at this,” he ordered, gesturing at a miniature glass replica of the palace. It was so intricate for its small size that surely magic had been involved somehow. “Isn’t it amazin’?” 

“It is, at that,” Louis agreed, looking at the rest of the display. There was a collection of unicorns, a bouquet of several different kinds of flowers, a dragon with spread wings. If he hadn’t already decided to purchase Mistress Watson’s work, he might have bought his sisters a few of the figurines. As he turned away, his eye was caught by a very simple rose, stretching for the light. It was somehow more breathtaking than anything else and he wanted to pick it up, as it seemed lifelike enough to surely smell like the roses in the garden. 

There was a commotion behind them so Louis turned fully away to see one of the smiths shaking a boy for pickpocketing, if the shouting was anything to go by. Harry moved forward so Louis grabbed the back of his shirt, and thankfully, after one more shake, the man let the boy drop and he disappeared into the crowd. The smith spat onto the ground and returned to his shop. 

Harry’s lips were pressed together, his hands clenched into fists, and he demanded in a whisper, “Why did you stop me?” 

“Are you really that daft?” Louis shot back, nearly as quietly. “Have you forgotten who we are?” 

Harry’s eyes widened, as he apparently had. “But still,” he tried to argue; Louis cut him off, going up on his tiptoes to murmur directly into Harry’s ear, “Had things gone further than shouting and a bit of fear, I might have intervened.” Probably would’ve, in fact, damn the consequences. He sank back down, giving Harry a smile. “Now,” he asked at a regular volume, “can we continue on our day?” 

Nodding, Harry brought the chicken leg up to his mouth. “Let’s,” he agreed. 

.

Without discussion, they followed the path the pickpocket had probably taken. All of the royal family’s clothes were supposed to come to them warded against pickpockets, and he assumed Harry’s were similarly warded but didn’t ask, as there was no telling who might be listening. 

“D’you remember that first day?” Harry asked, grinning stupidly at the air. “I thought you were the prettiest boy I’d ever seen, especially for a thief.” 

“I’ll have you know, I would make an excellent thief,” Louis informed him in his poshest tone. “I could even be the King of Thieves.” 

“Oh, there’s no doubting that,” Harry snickered. He _clearly_ wanted to say some sappy thing but they turned the corner to see the young pickpocket glaring at them. 

“What d’ya want?” the boy tried to snarl though he couldn’t possibly be more than twelve. 

Louis shrugged, glancing around the alley. It was a bit deserted, as was common, and hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d used it to steal away from the market with his prize. “Just wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt from earlier,” he said, knowing the boy wouldn’t believe him.

“’m’fine,” the boy said, backing up a step. “Not the worst that’s ‘appened.” 

“Are you hungry?” Harry asked. More than half his chicken leg was left and of course he held it out in offering, but the boy just backed up more. 

“We’ll leave you to your day,” Louis said. 

The boy watched with narrowed eyes as they went back to the marketplace; Harry wasn’t happy at all but he didn’t fight as Louis tugged at his shirt. They were silent until Louis’ eye was caught by a new bookshop while Harry wanted to return to the glassblower. “I’ll catch up with you,” Harry said as Louis walked to the book shop, tossing the chicken bone into a waste bin. 

“Welcome, sir,” the bookseller said as Louis stepped into the shop, standing a touch too close for comfort. “Is there anythin’ I can help ya find?” 

“I like history,” Louis said, moving away slightly to examine the nearest shelf. 

“Aye, we’ve got quite a lot of that,” the bookseller said, following him still a bit too close. Louis gave him a smile that was more of a grimace, really, and thankfully the man seemed to get the hint, backing off slightly. “Anythin’ in particular you’re lookin’ for?” 

“The Winter Rebellion,” Louis answered, scanning the shelf. “Or, perhaps something on Gregor the Mad.” 

“Now, those are two interestin’ points of history to be lookin’ for, sir,” the bookseller murmured. “But, matter’a fact, I picked up somethin’ down in Seavale.” He trotted off towards the back of the very small shop and Louis did not feel at all comfortable following him away from the crowds. 

While the bookseller was muttering himself and digging around in boxes, Louis kept looking at the shelf, where he found a slim volume labeled Forbidden Artes, which had him raising an eyebrow. He plucked it off the shelf and flipped through the pages; it seemed to be a novel of some kind, about a noblewoman who fell in love with some monstrous being. He was about to put it back with an eye-roll when the bookseller returned, saw it in his hands, and grabbed it from him with a glare entirely at odds with how he’d acted previously. “That shouldn’t have been on display,” the man told him. 

“I’ll give you a silver for it,” Louis replied, mostly out of annoyance. 

The bookseller gaped at him before glancing from Forbidden Artes to the other book, which seemed very old and fragile. “Two silvers for both,” Louis added, because now his interest was caught. The man still hesitated, frowning down at Forbidden Artes. “And I’ll throw in another silver,” Louis said, “so that you forget this conversation.” 

“Sold,” the bookseller said. 

.

Harry caught up with him down at the juggling competition, acting a bit squirrely. “What’ve you done, then?” he asked, books tucked under his arm. 

“Nothin’,” Harry lied, ducking to avoid Louis’ gaze. Louis just scoffed, turning back to the jugglers. 

“I’ve put five pallastones on the lad in purple, there,” Louis said, nodding towards the youngest of the five jugglers, whose bright purple overcoat looked quite lovely against his dark skin. “Thinkin’ of suggesting somethin’ like this to Mum.” 

Harry laughed, a loud bark that had him flushing and clapping a hand to his mouth, and half the crowd turned to look at him for a moment. Louis giggled silently as Harry tucked his face into Louis’ shoulder, adorably embarrassed. “What was so funny about that?” he asked as the oldest juggler dropped one of the balls. 

“I just pictured the Cou—a few of the people your mum knows at a place like this,” Harry said, which actually was very hilarious. Magee and Griffith, and Cowell, too, standing around watching people play with balls. Louis brought a hand to his mouth, trying to fight the mirth down. 

The palest of the jugglers lost next, and then the only woman, and it was down to the purple lad and a man probably Mum’s age, who looked a bit mean to be a juggler. Seemed like it should be happy work, and the man hadn’t ever smiled in his life. 

The wind kicked up but Louis didn’t notice until Harry straightened, gazing around with narrowed eyes. “A weather-witch?” Louis murmured, barely moving his lips, and Harry nodded. 

Whatever it was, it caused the unhappy juggler to drop the balls and the purple lad cheered, tossing all of his straight up and catching them in his bright yellow hat before bowing to the crowd. Some of the audience was grumbling but Louis handed his books off to Harry and fought his way to the front to collect his winnings. Once he had the small coinpurse in hand, he slipped through the crowd, reaching the purple juggler as he was pulling off his overcoat. “Was a good show, lad,” Louis said. 

The juggler looked over with a smile. “Thank you, sir,” he said, ducking his head slightly; he couldn’t be much older than Louis. 

“This is for you,” Louis added, tossing the coinpurse to him. 

“Oh, I couldn’t!” he said, catching it on instinct but Louis ignored him, spinning around and hurrying back to Harry. “Sir!” the juggler called after him but didn’t chase him, thankfully. 

Once Louis had reached Harry, he grabbed his hand and pulled him back into the marketplace proper, just to make it that much harder for the juggler to give him back the money. “Is there a reason we’re in such a rush?” Harry asked, following along easily. 

“No, not really,” Louis answered. He glanced around, seeing if there was anything else he wanted to do. “I think we should return to your room, Harold,” he said. 

Harry grinned, slow and sweet. “I’d like that.” 

.

“I’ve never been to a ball before,” Harry confessed, face tucked against Louis’ throat, sounding somewhere between frightened and embarrassed. 

Louis rubbed along his back. “You’ve been here for three years, Harry,” he said. “You never peeked in once?” 

Harry shook his head, his curls begging to be tugged as they brushed Louis’ skin, but instead he just dug his fingers into Harry’s back. 

“I’ll have a dance with each of the suitors,” Louis said. “And with my sisters and Mum, too. And then anyone brave enough to ask.” He chuckled, dipping his head slightly to press a kiss to the crown of Harry’s head. “I’ll give a speech, welcoming people and thanking them for attending, and I’ll probably say somethin’ about the changing laws. There might even be other couples like us.” He smiled. “Just think about it, love. Wouldn’t that be nice.” 

“It would be,” Harry said. “But you and I—can we have more than one dance? Or would that be… obvious like?” 

Louis sighed, tilting his head back against the headboard. “Everyone knows we’re friends, don’t they? It should be fine, I’d think.” He squeezed Harry’s back, kneading the skin. “I want to dance with you, Harry.” 

He felt Harry smile before Harry pulled back slightly so they could look at each other. “Which of the scheduled events will you be at, Lou?” 

Louis sighed again, this time just to be dramatic. “Mum finally told me what all was planned just before the feast last night. I think she wanted to make sure I didn’t tell you.” 

Harry pulled all the way away so he could sit up, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his knees. “Lou,” he said, making his eyes big and pouting, “can you let me know what the tests are?” 

“Stop with the sad eyes, Harold,” Louis ordered, bringing a hand to his face to block the sight. “I don’t know—only Mum and her Council do. I’ll be told right before it happens, and I’ll be kept separate so there’s no, like, cheatin’.” He risked peeking through his fingers; Harry still looked utterly pathetic, with a better pout than even the twins had ever managed. It wasn’t fair, honestly. “Stop it!” he ordered again, letting his hand fall. 

As Harry didn’t stop, Louis felt no remorse for rolling over and pouncing on him. 

.

Eventually, they got hungry; apparently, a single chicken leg each all day wasn’t enough. “I’ll go get something from the kitchen,” Harry said, pulling his trousers on. “Are you tired of pheasant yet?” 

Louis laughed softly. “I would like some bread, I think.” Harry slipped the shirt he’d given Louis over his head, blew Louis a kiss, and practically sashayed out the door. Louis laughed again. 

Lounging in bed was boring without Harry so Louis decided to explore the room some more, to see if anything had changed since the last time he explored the room. Nothing had, he found, save the schedule of things Mum and the Council had planned sitting next to the pile of books, crumpled and smelling strongly of Liam’s special brew. Louis, of course, would have to be a part of everything, attend all of it, no matter how much he’d prefer—anything else. And most of the suitors would probably attend everything as well, because it’d reflect poorly on their suit to just disappear. He frowned down at the parchment because he’d need to spend time with each suitor equally; he wondered if Harry had realized why he’d wanted to go to the market today, just the two of them.

He let the parchment fall back to the shelf and returned to the bed. He hoped Harry’s mum arrived soon, as he hadn’t the faintest idea what to do. He couldn’t go to Mum, couldn’t go to Sergeant Higgins, couldn’t go to anyone he’d ever been told he could trust. It was terrifying and exhausting and just all around horrible, really. 

The door to the outer room opened and Harry called, “I’ve bread and venison!” 

“Sounds perfect,” Louis replied, pulling on his trousers and going to meet him. 

…

As much as Harry wished Louis could spend the night in his room, Louis rightly pointed out he couldn’t be seen favoring any suitor over the other until at least after the first test, whatever it was, and to be caught in Harry’s room—well. It was long after nightfall when Louis finally dragged himself away, stealing Harry’s shirt in the process without a shred of embarrassment. The room felt empty without him. 

He realized as he lay in bed glaring up at the ceiling that Mum hadn’t replied to either of his messages. Gemma hadn’t sent him anything in days. 

It was _so fucking obvious_. He sat up in bed and nearly sent the spell out to test his theory but stopped at the very last moment, because what if the conspirators felt it? He clenched his jaw, his fists, and then hurried off the bed. After pulling on the nearest clothes, he cast the strongest unnoticeable charm he could and rushed to the tallest tower. 

.

Like most of the greatest magicks, Harry had never mastered MageSight. He knew the theory, of course, as he’d devoured all of Gemma’s textbooks and Mum’s library, and it just reminded him how completely unqualified he was to be going against whoever was ranged against Louis – at the least, Mage Cowell _had_ to be involved. And Duke Walsh, Head of the Guild of Mages… if he wasn’t part of the conspiracy, then the magical net covering the entirety of the capitol wouldn’t be there. Harry managed to hold the MageSight for nearly a minute, gaping up at the most intricate ward he’d ever even heard of, and after the MageSight faded, he sent out a very simple construct and watched as it disappeared into the night. 

He’d infused it with a tracker and so he felt the moment it hit the net, burning up into nothingness. 

No magical message would be getting through that, not without letting its maker know. And he couldn’t trust a messenger, couldn’t write down anything he knew—maybe he could ward a letter, but what if the suitors or just Louis’ friends were being watched? 

He reinforced his unnoticeable charm and waited until he was back in his room to collapse on the bed and scream his frustration out. 

Cowell and Walsh at the _very_ least, but certainly more. Mages with decades of experience, with political power, with allies Harry couldn’t begin to guess. Anything he could think to try, they’d surely already thought of, and he just wanted to burn them all up but he’d been _so_ overconfident with the princesses, with Louis… he’d sworn to protect them, but how could he? Not even an apprentice mage anymore. Just an apprentice _cook_. 

He could leave, of course. Get past the net and send another message, send a dozen of them, to every mage he’d ever met traveling with Mum. Send something directly to the Mage Council and then come back before anyone noticed he’d gone. 

Except… he squeezed his eyes closed but tears of frustration leaked out because, what if the net was designed to mark mages that passed through it? All of the visiting mages had to be declared, and wouldn’t the conspirators want to know of all possible threats to whatever scheme they had? 

He couldn’t risk it. Gemma, at least, would notice soon that he wasn’t replying. He’d just have to keep his head down until then, keep Louis and his sisters safe, and pass every test. 

_And maybe, at the end_ , he comforted himself, _I’ll be able to tear them to pieces_. 

Harry’s dreams that night, the ones he remembered, anyway, were violent, and he woke not feeling rested at all. 

.

Harry was still abed when someone knocked on his suite’s door. He rolled over, frowning, when the knock came again. “Harry?” he heard faintly. 

He slipped out of bed, pulled on the closest pair of trousers, and hurried to the door, opening it just as the third knock sounded. “Matt?” he asked, tilting his at the palace postmaster’s assistant. 

“Good, I’ve the right room,” Matt said, smiling. “This was nearly sent to your quarters in the servants’ wing.” He held out an envelope. 

“Well, thank you,” Harry said, examining the writing on the front, which was perhaps the prettiest he’d ever seen. Most scribes weren’t as pretty. 

“No problem,” Matt said with a nod before turning to leave. 

“Oh, Matt,” Harry called so he turned back. “There should be a very fragile package coming for me. Could you place that one in my real room?” 

“In the servants’ wing, you mean?” Matt asked. 

Harry nodded. “It’s for the, the Presentation of Courting Gifts,” Harry said, ducking his head a little. Such an ostentatious name. “I think it’d be best hidden there.” 

Matt chuckled. “Some of us still can’t believe you’re one of the suitors,” he said. “And then, I think back to all the trouble the pair’a ya’ve gotten into over the years.” 

Blushing, Harry smiled, admitting, “I can’t believe it sometimes, either.”

“Well, don’t worry about that package,” Matt said. “I’ll even have Mage Beales ward your room against thieves.” 

Harry very nearly asked if he wouldn’t, but that would be the _most_ suspicious, so he said instead, “Thank you, Matt.” His own protection wards were so subtle—with any luck, Mage Beales wouldn’t notice them. Removing them now, after three years, would probably do more harm than good.

Matt waved and turned to leave again; this time, Harry ducked back into his room and shut the door. 

The envelope was addressed simply _Apprentice Harry Styles, Palace_. There were no traps on it that he could sense so he shrugged and opened it to reveal a very short note: 

_One of my clients mentioned that you wanted to meet with me. I’ll be at that shop at noon on the Sabbath, should you choose to come. After that, I’ll be traveling and utterly out of reach._

It wasn’t signed and Harry stared at in bewilderment until he remembered the wards in Mistress Scherzinger’s shop. A quick time-check revealed that he had a little over two hours until noon, so he decided to bathe and find food before heading into town.

.

As it was the Sabbath, the city was mostly deserted: Harry saw maybe a dozen people, all hurrying somewhere, whether to the temples or not, Harry wasn’t sure. He wasn’t raised religious at all, and he knew Louis’ grandfather had been but his mother wasn’t. He could name the gods, of course, though he’d never once prayed to any of them, even the Seven Great. 

Mistress Scherzinger’s shop was closed but he knocked on the door and Eleanor let him in. “Hello, Harry!” she said. “Mistress Scherzinger is at Istali’s temple, but Mistress Osbourne is waiting for you in the back.” 

“Mistress Osbourne?” Harry echoed. “Is she the wardmaker?” Eleanor nodded and then made herself busy straightening up the display room so Harry wandered further back, into the workroom and the small room for rest. 

“Apprentice Styles, is it?” the woman asked. She was dressed simply, older than Mum by at least a decade, and her magick buffeted against him, sharp and cold. 

“Yes, Mistress,” Harry answered. “I was hoping for guidance with wards, if it pleases you.” 

She laughed. “You’ve charm aplenty, haven’t you,” she said. “Have you noticed anything odd at the palace lately, boy?” 

“I have,” he said, shifting nervously in place. 

“Oh, sit, stop loomin’ over me,” she ordered, so he sat across from her at the small table. “Twenty years ago, you know,” she said, “I’d have been invited into the plot.” 

He froze, staring at her, and she smiled sweetly. “I’m a hedgewitch,” she continued, “and I’m old, now. My magic is stronger than it’s ever been, as even you noticed, _Apprentice_.” She flicked a hand towards the ceiling, meaning the wards that were nearly as intricate as the net across the capitol. “My family sent me to the university, where they taught me theory but not much else.” Her smile sharpened, matching the magic, and she repeated, “I am, after all, _only_ a hedgewitch.” 

“What happened twenty years ago?” Harry asked nervously. 

Mistress Osbourne laughed. “My father was part of the previous duke’s staff; I grew up with that man. We were at university at the same time, too. He’s powerful, I’ll grant him that, but such an _arrogant_ sot.” 

Harry kept very still, trying not to shudder as the temperature in the room dropped—and then suddenly, all of the magic was gone, dissipated with a single flick of Mistress Osbourne’s hand. 

“My husband,” Mistress Osbourne said, “was Head of the Guild of Mages twenty years ago until a magical accident.” She laced her fingers together, eyes boring into Harry. “He has never been the same. _Nothing_ has been the same since the accident.” 

Her smile was as cold as her magic. “It wasn’t an accident, what happened to my husband. I’ve known that for longer than you’ve been alive, boy.” 

Mistress Osbourne tilted her head slightly, staring at him, and then said, “I taught myself wardcraft, as no one else seemed inclined to. And that man, he did everything he could to ensure no one listened to me about the _accident_ , and now, he’s finally making his move.” 

“For Pallston’s throne?” Harry asked when she paused. 

She laughed. “Somethin’ like that.” 

“Can’t you teach me anything?” he asked. “I didn’t even make it to university, and surely you know something that will help me keep—”

“Do hush, boy,” she said. “That man knows the feel of my magic. After fifty years, he couldn’t miss it, no matter how you tried to hide it. He knows my wards.” Her gaze sharpened with her smile as she said, “Your magic, though… you’ve been sitting here with me and I can barely sense it.” 

He frowned. “Really? None of the court mages have ever seemed to, either.” 

She nodded, tapping a finger to her lips. “The net, do you know what it does?” 

“It stops magical messages,” Harry said. 

She nodded again. “It also marks every mage and hedgewitch that passes through it. Only the most powerful, most attuned, can sense it, boy; even _I_ only know it’s there because I grew up around his magical signature.” 

“I had to use MageSight,” Harry explained. “I sense it now, but I didn’t before that.” 

“Hmm.” She nodded, straightening in the chair. “I’m leaving the capitol because whatever he intends, I shan’t be here. If he succeeds, it’ll be terrible; if he fails…” She laughed, shaking her head. “Magical backlash is the last thing my husband needs.” 

“Magical backlash?” Harry demanded. “From what?” 

Mistress Osbourne shook her head again. “I’m not entirely sure,” she admitted. “But I’ve nothin’ more to offer you, boy.” 

Harry sighed, letting his head drop. “Please,” he murmured. “I can’t trust anyone at the palace. I can’t send word to my mum—”

“Your mum?” Mistress Osbourne asked. 

He nodded. “She’s a journeymage for the Mage Council. When I noticed something was goin’ on, I sent for her, but it was after Walsh arrived at court.” 

“If you like,” Mistress Osbourne offered, “I can send her a message once I’m away from the net.” 

“Please,” Harry said, a bit of relief welling in him. “I don’t know what I’m doing, there’s no one I can trust, and what’s at stake…” 

“Tell me her name and where she is,” Mistress Osbourne said. “Anything I send will take longer to find her, don’t forget that.” 

Harry nodded. “I think she’s somewhere in Festano. Journeymage Anne Twist or Anne Selley, she goes by both.” 

“Alright, Apprentice Styles, I’ll send her a message once I’m safely away from the capitol.” She leaned back in her chair, studying him. “I’ve been trying to feel your magic since you walked into Nicole’s shop. You’re barely there. In a palace full of mages, it’s easy to see how it’s been missed.” 

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Harry said. “All my tutors growin’ up said I’d be a hedgewitch but I realized my talent a little while ago. And I’ve always been good with protection charms.” 

Nodding, Mistress Osbourne said, “So was I told, as a girl.” She shrugged, pushing her chair back. “It doesn’t matter. All of this isn’t my concern, and once I’ve messaged your mum, I’ll be movin’ on with my life.” 

Harry understood that, he truly did, but it took all of his self-control to bite back what he wanted to say. He stood when she did and went to thank her but she held up a hand. “I will tell you this.” She looked so old, so tired, as she said, “Now, listen close, _Apprentice_. I’ve known that man all my life, and I’ve met those he calls friend. Whatever he’s doin’, it’s gonna to get messy and there will be pain.” She laughed slightly, sadly, as she added, “He will kill you, if realizes you stand against him.” 

“Thank you for meeting with me, Mistress Osbourne,” he murmured, giving her a respectful bow. 

“Don’t be thankin’ me, child,” she said. “Now get out of here. You’ll be suspect if anyone notices that you’ve spent time with me.” 

Harry smiled at her, stalked back into the shop proper, called, “Goodbye, Eleanor,” and very gently shut the door behind him. 

He needed to be somewhere quiet, somewhere still, somewhere calm and soothing, somewhere he could fight down the fury, the frustration, the fear. But until he found such a place, he decided to walk, and he focused on putting one foot in front of the other, grounding his magick with each step. 

“You’ve missed the service,” he heard and looked up to find that his feet had led him to a temple. A young woman was standing by the door. “But if you’d like, Eydos’ temple is always open.” 

“Eydos,” he said. “Goddess of Hope.” He laughed, shaking his head ruefully. “I could do with a bit of that.” 

“Then come in,” the woman said, swinging the door open. 

He sighed and went up the stairs. 

.

When he returned to the palace, Harry searched out an attendant he was friendly with and asked, “Esther, do you know where Mr. Sheeran or Lord Mullingar are?” 

Esther shook her head with a dramatic sigh, even as she sketched out the locator rune. “You’re so hopeless, Styles.” 

“I am, and I apologize,” Harry said with as much sincerity as he could muster and his brightest smile. 

“Mr. Sheeran,” she said, flicking the rune away, “is in the Great Library.” She sketched the rune again, saying, “And Lord Mullingar is down at the lesser stable.” 

“Thank you,” he told her. “I hope your Sabbath is going well.” 

“As well as it could,” she laughed. “Now, go on, I know you’ve places to be.” 

He waved at her and then backtracked to the hall that led to the largest library in the palace. It’d be easier to find Niall in the stable but Harry felt more comfortable asking Ed about clothes for the ball than a duke’s son, however affable he was. 

Thankfully, Master Carrilho was at his desk near the entrance. “Hello,” he said softly as Harry approached. “Have you come for another book on gardening, Apprentice Styles?” 

“No, not today, Master Carrilho,” Harry replied. “I’m actually looking for Mr. Sheeran the minstrel. I was told he’s in here somewhere. Would you happen to know where?” 

Master Carrilho chuckled, nodding with a smile. “I do. He’s by the eastern window, reading about Pallstonien folklore.” 

“Thank you,” Harry said with a small bow. 

Master Carrilho just waved him off, looking back down at his parchment, so Harry hurried away, trying to be as quiet as he could. 

The eastern window was large, in order to let the sun’s light greet the books or something—Master Carrilho had mentioned it once, when he overheard Louis bragging about some prank he’d pulled in the library as a boy. Ed was curled up beside the window, a children’s history primer in his hands. “How accurate,” he asked, looking up at Harry, “is this story about Gregor the Mad?” 

“Fairly accurate,” Harry said. “If that’s the same version we had in Holmes Chapel.” 

Ed scoffed, shaking his head. “His name was well-earned, then.” He glanced up from the book with a smile. “How can I help you, Harry?” 

“You, um, mentioned that Prince Aiden might have clothes I could wear to the ball?” Harry murmured, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, staring at the tops of his shoes. 

“Oh, yes,” Ed said, closing the book and swinging his feet to the floor. “Let me just get the librarian’s permission to keep this book and we’ll go see Aiden.” 

.

“Of course!” Prince Aiden said once Harry had stumbled over his request, Ed just smiling serenely next to him. “Please, choose whatever you’d like.” Prince Aiden gestured towards one of the doors in his suite and Harry slowly moved toward it. “My mage, Jesy, she’s magicked up that room somehow, keeping all my court finery in perfect condition.” He made some noise that Harry interpreted as confusion. “So pick your favorite and I’ll call Jesy in to make sure it fits properly.” 

Harry nervously opened the door, and then gaped at the startling amount of fancy clothes hanging in midair. “You’d let me choose any of this I wanted?” he asked, reaching out to stroke the sleeve of a glimmering blazer. The magic in the fabric practically _sang_ ; the entire room was saturated in it. 

“Of course,” Prince Aiden said. “It’s not like I’ll possibly be able to wear it all, and what I’ll be wearing tomorrow has already been pulled, anyway.” 

Harry had never paid much attention to the clothes he wore beyond if it was appropriate for whatever situation he was in. He knew what he liked looking at (essentially anything Louis ever wore) but what would look good on _him_? He’d attended a few parties as Mum’s apprentice, but he’d worn simple suits to those, and he’d been a boy, besides. As a non-noble, it mattered little what he wore; as an apprentice mage, it mattered less. But this was to a _grand ball_ that he was attending as a _suitor for the Crown Prince’s hand_. He needed to make an impression, and it needed to be a good one. 

So he turned to Prince Aiden and he asked, “What should I wear?” 

. 

Prince Aiden’s mage (“Jesy Nelson,” she said brightly, shaking Harry’s hand, “lovely to meet you.”) was in charge of his appearance, apparently. Not a bodyservant the way Louis had, but something similar. 

“So,” she said, threading her fingers together with a smile blooming across her face, “I’m to make you look as good as possible for this ball?” 

Harry nodded nervously. “If you’ve time, I mean,” he mumbled, darting a glance towards Prince Aiden and Ed, who were talking softly together near the door. “I know your charge is Prince Aiden.” 

“Sweetie,” she said, stepping close enough to tilt his head back up with a finger on his chin. “Aiden’s all sorted for tomorrow night. I’ll have him ready like _that_ ,” and she snapped her fingers together right in front of his face. “But you, Mr. Styles?” She giggled, patting his face. “You’ve people to impress,” she told him, taking a few steps back and looking him over. It was highly uncomfortable and he stayed as still as possible. Once her gaze had reached his face again, she met his eyes and nodded firmly. “And we’re _going_ to impress them.” 

…

After spending all day shadowing Mum, Louis was finally released for a private dinner with his sisters while Mum dealt with a few last minute issues that Mistress Cole brought to her attention. Lottie and Fi were quite excited about the ball, while Petal and Bee talked about the magic tricks Mage Kotecha had shown them. It was a good two hours that allowed Louis to relax after having been on guard since breakfast in Mage Cowell’s presence. 

Louis hated him. He’d watched the man offer advice to Mum, watched how respectful he was to Mum and the other Council members, watched his sneer as he spoke to the servants—and wondered how he’d never seen it before. Had there been spells in place? Or had he just never looked? 

After seeing his sisters to their rooms, Louis wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with Harry. He couldn’t, of course, and so he didn’t, but he _really_ wanted to. Instead, he greeted his guards, said goodnight to Preston, and went into his private rooms, where he went through his usual bedtime ritual before lighting the candle on his bedside table and settling into bed with  Forbidden Artes.

It was quite poorly written, without a single good reason that the monster was considered a monster, but there must have been a reason for the bookseller to have reacted the way he did. By the time Louis reached the climactic scene of the townspeople trying to burn the silly noblewoman and her monster lover alive, he could barely focus on the words on the page, he was so tired. 

And there it was. He blinked down at the words, thinking he must’ve misread them, but they were still there, exactly the same. Alexandras the noblewoman shouted words in ancient Pallstonien (and if the author had them correct or not, Louis had no idea) that summoned the magic from every single mage trying to murder her, and she infused it all into her lover (which, Louis was fairly sure, wouldn’t have at _all_ worked the way the author used it), and they somehow traveled away, using the magic the monster shouldn’t have even known how to use. It was ridiculous. 

And also exactly what Harry had said Gregor the Mad had somehow done. 

Louis flipped back to the beginning and read it over again, focusing less on the truly shit writing and more on the magic the author presented. He must’ve fallen asleep at some point because he woke to Eton gently shaking his shoulder. Louis groaned and shoved him away, trying to hide under his pillow and discreetly tucking the book under the blanket. 

“Yes, yes, I’m awake,” he finally said, glaring up at the poor man who surely wasn’t paid enough to deal with Louis. 

“Her Majesty has requested your presence for the morning meal,” Eton said. “And after that, Mage Byrne has requested a meeting.” 

“And then?” Louis asked, dragging himself out of bed. 

“And then you have lunch, which will be with the nobles in residence of your same age,” Eton continued seriously, pulling out the clothes Louis would need for the day. Which Louis was more than capable of doing himself, whatever Eton thought. “After that, preparations for the ball will begin.” 

“And the ball will start promptly at six o’clock,” Louis finished. “Well, that’s quite a day, isn’t it?” 

Eton just looked at him without even bothering to raise an eyebrow. 

“Well, look,” Louis said, “I can finish gettin’ dressed myself and then I’ll go meet Mum. But I need you to go down to the treasury and find out if those artworks have been purchased from Mistress Watson yet.” 

“Those artworks,” Eton repeated drily. 

“Yes,” Louis said, nodding. “I sent orders on this past Thursday and I’ve heard no more about it. It slipped my mind ‘til now.” 

Eton sighed. “Yes, Highness, I’ll visit the treasury.” 

“Thank you, Eton,” Louis said, darting into the bathing chamber. He waited until Eton was long gone, until he was dressed and ready for the day, to pull the book from under the blanket and hide it away. He’d show it to Harry, but not until they were safely in Harry’s room, cloaked in as strong a privacy ward as Harry could cast, and there wouldn’t be time for that until—oh, not ’til _Wednesday_ , he thought in annoyance. He glared towards the study he’d never feel comfortable using again and stalked out of his private room to the front room where Preston was waiting. 

“D’you know where Mum’s eating breakfast?” he asked. 

“Aye, I do, Highness,” Preston said, and then just stood there, looking at him. 

Louis sighed. “Can you tell me, then?” 

Preston smiled. “Out in the Memorial Garden, Highness,” he said, just a bit smugly. 

“Lovely,” Louis said. “Let’s get a move on, then. Quite the day ahead.” He breezed past Preston, nodded to the door guards, and resolved to not think about the book again until he could share it with Harry. 

… Harry, who probably did not have clothes fit for a ball, and _why_ didn’t he mention that yesterday? Why hadn’t Louis asked? He gestured to the first servant he saw and ordered, “Find Harry Styles and see if he’s properly prepared for the ball tonight.” The woman nodded, looking startled, so Louis gentled his tone when he added, “If he’s not, report back to me in the Memorial Garden. If he is, return to your duties.” 

“Yes, Your Highness,” she said, dropping into a curtsey. 

He turned away, ignoring Preston’s expression, and went out to the Memorial Garden, where Mum and breakfast were waiting. Preston hung back with Mum’s personal guard as they ate and discussed Louis’ speech for the ball. 

Louis wanted to throw himself into her arms and confess everything, to curl up and be small again, that naïve little boy who had no idea what being a prince meant. Instead, he looked around the garden, listening to Mum talk about the Ball and what Louis needed to do. It was a pleasant place, the Memorial Garden. The statue of Louis’ grandparents, King Leonard III and Queen Jennifer, were staring at him. Past them, there were statues of all the previous monarchs, going back nearly twenty generations. Eventually, Mum would be there, too. And eventually Louis. 

For as beautiful as this garden was, Louis didn’t like spending time in it. Mum found some sort of peace in it, but Louis found only melancholy. 

Finally, Mum dismissed him with a pat on the hand—it would’ve been a kiss to the cheek mere days ago. He pressed his lips together, inclined his head, and walked calmly away. 

“Mage Byrne is in her office,” Preston said. “It’s in the Mages’ Wing.” 

“I don’t suppose you know where in that labyrinth her office is?” Louis asked. 

Preston shook his head so Louis summoned an attendant. 

.

Mage Byrne was perhaps Louis’ favorite of the court mages. Out of all of them, she’d been there the longest, pre-dating Cowell. She’d brought in Mage Kotecha and Mage Adeleye, and if Louis remembered correctly (he’d been quite young, and when he’d been found, an attendant had been ordered to return him to the nursery), she’d protested adding Mages Wooten and O’Leary to court. But Grandfather had appointed them anyway. 

“Thank ya for seein’ me, Highness,” Mage Byrne said, inclining her head in respect. “I’ve just a few questions about the new rule for attendants and servants. 

“Of course, Mage Byrne,” Louis said, settling into the chair across from her. Her office was quite cozy; it reminded him of his favorite out-of-the-way nook, warm and inviting. 

“As you know, I’ve charge of the attendants; it’s been my duty since King Leonard appointed me, thirty-odd years ago.” Louis nodded, so Mage Byrne, smiling a little, continued, “My talent is mainly in hiding things, though I’m good with the general arts, as well. The first thing I did was give my girls and boys a charm they could activate as protection, should someone get too… handsy.” Louis nodded again; Mage Byrne shook her head slightly and said, “When your mum ascended the throne, she added new laws, abolished some of the older practices, made this palace safer.” 

Louis went to ask a question, and Mage Byrne said quickly, “Not that your grandfather wasn’t a good king—he was. But he didn’t understand some things, y’see. His father was a hard man, Highness. Pallston breathed a sigh of relief when King Leonard was crowned.” She rubbed at her chin, sighing. “Anyway, I wanted to talk about why _you_ brought this issue up, if it pleases you.” 

“Those charms you gave the attendants,” Louis said. “Can you make some for the servants, too?” 

“Aye, I can,” she said. “I even tried, with Master Strombert, the previous Steward, but he said it was a waste of magic.” 

Louis scoffed. “How is protecting anyone a waste of magic?” 

Mage Byrne laughed. “Master Strombert was an earl’s son, Highness. Mistress Cole is a commoner.” Louis nodded in understanding, though still quite annoyed at this Steward who decided _not_ to protect people in his charge. Louis couldn’t fathom having the capability and choosing not to help. “And I feel so stupid now, for not bringing it up with Mistress Cole, but so many years had passed and it slipped me mind.” 

“I understand,” Louis said. “But getting those charms is your priority now. It’s more important than this marriage nonsense, you understand?” 

“I do,” Mage Byrne said, looking pleased. “I’ve already sent out the order of pairin’ up an attendant and a servant, whatever the task. It means some things might take longer, but I’ve also ordered that all complaints about that come straight to me.” 

“Good.” Louis grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Now, Mage Byrne, I’ve a question of my own, if you’ve the time.” 

She nodded. “I’ve a meeting with my lead attendants this afternoon, but ’til then I’m free.” 

Louis tapped on the armrest of his chair, just watching her for a few moments; she stayed silent, watching him right back. “Mage Byrne,” he finally said. “How are you at privacy wards?” 

“I’ve some talent there,” she answered. 

He chewed on his lip for a moment and wanted to hold onto the anchor charm but chose not to draw attention to it. “And are there any listening spells in this room?” he asked. 

Mage Byrne glanced towards one of the paintings on the wall and flicked her fingers. “Not at the moment,” she said. She sketched out a rune and then said, “I’ve also just cast the most powerful privacy ward I know. Why, Highness?” 

He could only take her word for it, had to decide if he could trust her. So he breathed in, breathed out, and then he asked, “If I told you there was a mage at court who has tried the mind-arts on me, on Mum, on my sisters—what would you do?” 

Her mouth dropped open before he’d even finished the question. When she didn’t answer immediately, he said, “And if I told you there wasn’t a mage of higher rank or power at court?” 

She sighed heavily. “Oh, blast all the gods to pieces,” she muttered. “That’s a nasty fuckin’ mess, boyo.” 

“It is, yes,” he said. “Mage Byrne—I don’t know who all is involved, only that there are two mages who _must_ be for any of it to make sense.” 

“Don’t tell me their names,” she said. “If it’s the two I’m thinkin’ it must be, they are definitely wily enough to have a warning attached to their name.” 

“What?” he demanded, leaning forward. “That’s a—mages can _do_ that?” 

“Aye, they can,” she said. “It’s a complicated bit of magic; I surely couldn’t.” 

“How, how does that work?” A Watching Stone, some sort of magic to say when someone used their names—but surely, if those two arsewipes had done it, he and Harry would’ve been found out by now?

“I’m not entirely sure, Highness,” Mage Byrne said, looking quite disappointed. “I think it’s a charm attached to a quill, and each time a certain word is mentioned, it writes down whatever was said _with_ the word.” 

That was utterly terrible, and meant that Louis needed to talk with Harry as soon as he possibly could. And it meant he’d have to trust Mage Byrne a little further, but what choice did he have? 

“Without letting anyone know I’m still here,” he said, “can you send word that you need to talk with Harry Styles?” 

Her gaze sharpened as she tilted her head. “Yes, Highness,” she said. “Wait here.” 

And so he waited, until she returned after a few minutes and dropped back into her chair. “Without naming names,” she said, “tell me what’s been happenin’.” 

If she was part of it, then everything was over. But if she wasn’t… 

He reached up to clutch the anchor through his shirt and decided to trust her. 

…

When Harry stepped into Mage Byrne’s office, the first thing he saw was Louis slumped in a chair, arms folded up against his chest, clearly holding the protection charms. Harry looked from him to Mage Byrne, who was watching them both, and he had no idea how to play this. What was Louis doing here? 

“You wanted to see me, Mage Byrne?” he asked as evenly as he could. 

Louis raised his head. “Harold,” he said. “I told her… near everythin’.” _Not about you_ , he read in Louis’ gaze, the slight downturn of his lips. “But she said… those two fuckers might have some magick on their names.” 

“Magick on their names?” Harry repeated, stepping all the way into the office and closing the door, ignoring Louis’ scowling bodyguard. “What does that mean?” 

“It’s a very complicated spell,” Mage Byrne answered as Harry dropped into the seat beside Louis. “It’s like… a tracking charm on a word, and some way or another, it notes down every time the word is used.” She shrugged. “I myself, I’m not powerful enough to use it, and I don’t know any more than what I just told ya.” 

“So if those in the conspiracy,” Harry mused, watching Louis out the corner of his eye, “if they’ve put this, this _hex_ on their names, they’ll know every time those names have been used?” 

“Perhaps,” Mage Byrne said. “Mayhap a strong enough privacy or protection ward would block it, but there’s no way of knowin’.” 

Harry felt some relief at that. And surely, dozens of people a day spoke the names Cowell and Walsh. 

“Now,” Mage Byrne said, her gaze on Harry. “What have you got to do with this, Apprentice Styles? Surely, you’re not a mage or you’d have announced yourself when you moved into the palace.” 

“I’m… I have a bit of magick, that’s all,” he said, wanting to reach for Louis’ hand. Mage Byrne’s eyes went to Louis, and Harry turned to see that Louis had pulled the two charms out of his shirt. 

Mage Byrne’s mouth dropped open. “ _Where_ in the seven hells did you get _those_?” she asked in a whisper. 

“From Harry,” Louis said and Mage Byrne sank back in her chair laughing softly. Louis glanced at Harry in askance but he shrugged, because he hadn’t the faintest idea why Mage Byrne found that so funny. 

“You, boyo,” she said through the laughter, “you really haven’t the faintest, d’ya? A _bit o’magick_ , hah!” 

They just sat there, glancing back and forth from each other to Mage Byrne until she finally stopped laughing. She wiped at her eyes, muttering to herself, before sitting back up straight, setting her elbows on her desk, and fixing a hard stare on Harry, who did his utmost to not shrink back from it. “Who was your teacher?” she demanded. 

“Um, my mum?” Harry said, a little bewildered. “I had theory tutors, too, but I wasn’t… I mean.” He huffed in annoyance at himself. “I was a little good at a lot of things but I didn’t ever seem _that_ good at anything.” When Mage Byrne just kept looking at him, Harry added, “I was apprenticed to Mum from eleven to sixteen, and I traveled with her around Pallston. She’s a journeymage.” Mage Byrne _still_ kept quiet, so Harry kept talking. “But since I wasn’t much more than a hedgewitch, I came here as an apprentice instead of going to university.” 

“A hedgewitch,” Mage Byrne repeated. She pointed at Louis’ chest, where the charms were hanging in plain sight. “You think a _hedgewitch_ could’ve made _those_?” She scoffed loudly, shaking her head. “Your mum needs to get her MageSight checked.” 

“Hey!” Harry said. “My mum’s the greatest mage I’ve ever met. I just…” he shrugged, sagging back against the chair. “My talent didn’t make itself known ’til I needed it.” 

“And what, Apprentice Styles, _is_ this blasted talent?” Mage Byrne asked. 

Harry glanced over at Louis, who smiled at him, nodding slightly, and then his gaze slid down to the anchor and small bird, and he looked back at Mage Byrne to say, “My magic’s defensive. Charms, wards, rites. It’s quiet-like.” 

“That it is,” Mage Byrne agreed. “Three years livin’ here and not one’a us had a clue.” She tilted her head, assessing him, it felt like. Some of his tutors had looked at him like that, and he wasn’t supposed to hear that time one of them asked Mum if he even had magic at all. “So you gave him those protection charms and felt when someone tried the mind-arts on him.” She hummed in thought. 

Louis said, “My sisters, too. But they’ve already put a thrall on Mum.” 

Mage Byrne sighed. “I’ll ask the other court mages, the ones I’m quite sure wouldn’t be part of this, see if anyone’s noticed anythin’.” 

“And you’ll be subtle?” Louis asked. 

Rolling her eyes, Mage Byrne said, “I’ve been doin’ all this court nonsense longer than either one’a you’ve been alive.” 

“I know,” Louis said, sounding small and tired. Harry reached for his hand, which Louis took and squeezed a bit too tight, but Harry didn’t mind. “I just… I don’t know what to do,” Louis confessed, but whether it was to Mage Byrne or Harry, Harry didn’t know. “Harry’s sent for his mum,” Louis said, and Harry’s heart dropped. 

He’d completely forgotten to tell Louis about the magical net. 

“None of the messages made it,” he said. “Wa—the conspirators have a shield in place.” Louis turned to look at him, and Harry never ever wanted to see that expression his face again. “No magical messages can pass through it without alerting them. It covers the entire capitol.” He couldn’t tear his gaze away from Louis but Mage Byrne made a noise of shock. “And it’ll, it’ll also mark any mage that passes through it, so I can’t leave and send a message to Mum from the other side, not if I want to keep the _only_ advantage we have.” 

“Then what the fuck do we do?” Louis demanded, sounding downright savage. Harry’s hand was nearly numb in his grip. 

“There’s a hedgewitch,” Harry said quickly. “I spoke with her yesterday—she’s leaving the capitol and she’s promised to send a message to Mum. It’ll take longer to find her than if I’d sent it, but my sister, she’ll notice soon I’ve not replied to whatever she’s been sending me.”

“If there is a net that large, that complex…” Mage Byrne murmured. “Then this plot, whatever it is, is far more wide-reaching than I thought.” 

Harry finally managed to look away when Louis’ gaze dropped, so he turned to face Mage Byrne. “They want the throne, we think. To take charge of Pallston, though what they’ll do about our allies, I haven’t the faintest.” 

“They surely have allies of their own, in every court,” Mage Byrne said. “But what they hope to accomplish…” She frowned, resting her chin in her palm. “The first thing we learn is about the earth magicks…” She trailed off again, gaze going distant. Harry wanted to ask what she could possibly mean with _earth magicks_ , but Louis’ grip on his hand loosened so Harry turned back to him. 

“Do you have clothes for the ball tonight?” Louis asked. 

Harry stared at him. After a moment, Louis raised an eyebrow. “Well?” 

“I, yeah, I do,” he said. “Prince Aiden lent me a suit and one of his mages magicked it to fit me.” 

“Good,” Louis said firmly, nodding. “That’s good.” 

Harry felt a small tendril of hurt. “I won’t embarrass you, Lou, I promise,” he murmured, hoping Mage Byrne wasn’t listening.

“Oh, no, Harry,” Louis said, reaching out with his free hand to cup Harry’s cheek. “That wasn’t what I meant at all, love.” He frowned, shaking his head slightly, biting his lower lip. “I just… I want _you_ to feel good tonight. I want you to be confident and comfortable and to have as much fun as you can, with all this nonsense hanging over our heads.” He lightly tapped Harry’s cheek, squeezing his hand again, for just a second. “I’ll never be embarrassed because of you. I couldn’t be.” 

The clock struck noon. Harry listened to the chimes without looking away from Louis’ eyes. “I’m meeting the lads for lunch,” Louis said softly. 

“I’m to meet up with Jesy,” Harry said in return, though of course Louis would have no idea who she was. 

“Before you leave, Apprentice Styles,” Mage Byrne said, startling Harry and Louis both, and she was smiling when Harry turned to look at her, “I’d like to discuss your magic a bit more.” 

“Of course,” he said deferentially. Beside him, Louis stood, tucking the charms back into his shirt. 

“I’ll see you at the ball,” Louis said, tracing a fingertip along Harry’s jaw. “Do me proud, love.”

“I will,” Harry promised. 

“Mage Byrne,” Louis said as he turned away, pulling back on the Crown Prince, “when you’ve spoken with the mages, ask for another meeting with me.” 

“Yes, Your Highness,” she said, inclining her head. 

With one more glance at Harry, Louis left, closing the door behind him. Harry slumped back against the chair, trying not to pout, and then trying to wipe his face expressionless once he noticed Mage Byrne watching him with a grin. 

“Yes, Mage Byrne?” he asked. “Can I help you with something?” 

“You _are_ a cheeky brat beneath all that charm and politeness, aren’t you, boy?” she said. 

“My mum raised me to be polite,” he said. “The charm I come by naturally.” 

“And once that fails?” Mage Byrne asked. “When good manners aren’t enough, and your charm doesn’t stop the enemy standing there, revealed to the world?” 

Harry met her gaze. “Do you have questions for me, Mage Byrne? I’ve things that need doin’.” 

She laughed again, shaking her head. “Three years,” she muttered. “Three gods’ forsaken years.” She looked at him again. “’s’good thing you found reasons to be loyal or I’d be even more worried.” 

He frowned at her but she waved a hand dismissively. “Your mum’s a mage,” she said. “Anyone else in your family?” 

“My older sister,” he answered. “She attended the university and started journeying last year. She’s a battle mage, and so’s Mum.” 

“But not on your father’s side?” she asked, leaning back in her chair and stretching her arms out. 

Harry shook his head. “My father’s family are farmers, and have been for generations, in Grimshaw. Me and Gemma were born in Holmes Chapel out there in the middle of nothin’.” 

“So, two battle mages who journey,” Mage Byrne said slowly, “and then you, who barely feel magical at all.” She tapped her fingers against the desk. “Tell me about these mind-arts attempts, and why you think the queen’s enthralled.” 

Harry nodded, took a deep breath, and then began at the beginning. 

.

Harry ate lunch quickly in the kitchen after Mage Byrne released him and then returned to Prince Aiden’s suite. The door guard raised an eyebrow at him before knocking on the door and stepping in to announce him. 

“Well, send him in!” Jesy ordered. “Honestly, this is such a formal court.”

“In Gryn, servants can just enter unannounced when not on duty?” Harry asked, gently closing the door behind him. 

“But you’re not a servant,” Jesy told him, taking his hand in order to drag him to the magical wardrobe. “For this, you are of the same rank as all of the other suitors, Harry Styles, and you should act like it.”

“Confident?” he suggested, smiling a bit. “Comfortable?”

“Exactly,” Jesy said. “Now, do you still want the outfit you chose yesterday?”

“You chose it for me, remember?” Harry laughed.

“Well, yes, but you looked quite good.” Jesy turned from the floating clothes to smile at him. “Were you comfortable? Confident?”

Harry looked at the fancy shirt, the fancy trousers, the fancy shoes. Yesterday, he’d felt like an imposter, wearing clothes he’d stolen from someone better. 

_I’ll never be embarrassed because of you. I couldn’t be._

“I’d like to put it on again and see,” Harry said. 

Jesy clapped her hands together. “Let’s do that, then.” 

.

As Harry studied himself in the mirror, Jesy asked, “How do you feel

“Like a Prince Consort,” he murmured. 

.

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon in Ed’s quarters, trading Grynese mythology for Pallstonien mythology. Much of it was the same, of course, especially the Seven Great Gods, but Ed wasn’t any more religious than Harry. 

But once did Ed try to turn the conversation to Louis and Harry’s _friend_ ship with him, but Harry guided the conversation away and Ed was kind enough to let him. The clock struck 3, and 4, and 5—and Ed murmured, “Time to meet Jesy.” 

“Yeah,” Harry sighed. Jesy and two assistants would be dressing them for the ball, and Harry tried pulling that confidence back on as he trudged after Ed into Prince Aiden’s quarters. 

Prince Aiden and Ed were dressed first, both of them looking regal and splendid, and just seeing it had Harry imagining the rest of the suitors—especially Prince Zain. How could he possibly compete with Prince Zain? 

“Your turn, Mr. Styles,” Jesy called, waving him over, the chosen outfit floating beside her. “Quickly now, we don’t want to be late.” And then she paused, staring up at him, and a wicked grin curved her lips. “Or perhaps we do, yeah?” 

Ed laughed. “Oh, for Harry here, we definitely do.” 

“Why would I want to be late?” Harry asked, glancing from Jesy’s evil smile to Ed’s smug grin to Prince Aiden’s utterly confused expression. 

“So that you can make an entrance, of course,” Jesy said. “Now, get yourself undressed, sweetie.” 

Knowing he’d be getting no more from either of them, he stripped off his shirt, resigned. 

.

At a quarter ‘til, Prince Aiden’s party moved towards the stairs. Harry trailed them, fidgeting with the hem of the shirt—the finest thing he’d ever worn. It fit like a second skin, also different from his usual clothes, thanks to Jesy’s magic. He kept thinking the material would tear as it felt so flimsy but Jesy had assured him it was stronger than it seemed. 

“Harry,” Ed called, turning at the foot of the stairs, looking up at him. “Take your time.” Prince Aiden paused, waiting, but Ed kept looking at Harry. “Be confident,” he said firmly. “From what I’ve seen, the prince has eyes only for you.” 

Harry had no idea how to reply but Ed turned to catch up with Prince Aiden. As he slowly walked down, the rest of the parties streamed by, all hurrying to the ballroom. When he reached the foot, he turned to gaze down the hall. 

In his life, he had never felt so terrified. But, too, he realized that Louis himself wanted Harry there, perhaps more than he wanted anyone else. So Harry took a deep breath and took a step, and another, and another, and as the clock struck a quarter after, Harry entered the grand ballroom through the main entrance. The herald smiled at him before announcing, “The final suitor, Mr. Harry Styles!” 

Across the room, on the dais, Harry saw Louis light up. With another deep breath, eyes only on Louis, Harry strode into the room. 

…

Since that day in the marketplace, when Louis turned to see the curly-haired boy watching him swipe sweets, he had known that the boy was important. Over the years, watching the boy appear during random excursions (and not always there, unfortunately), Louis made up stories about who he was, what his life must be like. And then, Harry approached him, and Louis had thought—but Harry wasn’t there the next time. 

But he _was_ in the kitchen. He distracted Louis from Mum and Dad’s argument. He laughed sincerely even when Louis knew he wasn’t that funny. He was the most beautiful person Louis had ever seen. 

He still was. In a ballroom full of Pallston’s richest dressed in their finery, drenched in jewels and cloaked in power, Louis could not look away from Harry Styles in borrowed clothes. 

“Close your mouth,” Lottie whispered. “Don’t you have a speech to make?”

“How can I make a speech if my mouth is closed?” he asked, stepping forward. 

“Your attention, please!” an attendant shouted, voice magically enhanced. “The Crown Prince will speak!” 

Louis finally tore his gaze from Harry, looking out over the crowd. “Welcome!” he said, the attendant projecting his voice so that everyone could hear. “I thank all of you for coming.” He made sure to include the residents of the capitol in his smile, especially the commoners. “This is the first event of my courting,” he laughed, looking each of the suitors in the eye, “so you’d all better impress me tonight.” 

The crowd tittered, the commoners laughing lauder than the nobility. Gesturing to the musicians, Louis continued, “Now, let’s dance!” There was more he was meant to say but instead he bounded off the dais and Lottie followed a bit more carefully, so she was his first dance partner. 

“Your boy is watching,” Lottie murmured, giggling. “He hasn’t looked away.” 

“Not helping,” he hissed.

“He’s quite gorgeous,” Lottie added. “Who knew he could look so good?”

“ _Lottie_ ,” he said. 

She laughed but thankfully fell silent as they spun around the ballroom, joined by commoners and nobility alike. 

When the music ended, Nick stepped up. “Your Highness,” he said seriously but with a bit of a grin, “will you honor me with a dance?” He bowed, holding out a hand. 

“It would be my honor, Lord Grimshaw,” Louis said in his poshest tone, the only one he’d be using tonight. He placed his hand in Nick’s as the next song began. 

“You’re trying to lead, Highness,” Nick said quietly. 

“Is that a problem, sir?” Louis asked just as quietly. 

“I suppose not,” Nick said but he took the lead on the next spin and Louis had to laugh. 

For the rest of the song, they traded off the lead, and it was more fun than he’d thought he’d have tonight. When the song finished, they exchanged bows and Prince Liam stepped up with a smile. 

He followed Louis’ lead, and so did Prince Aiden after him, and Niall. But Prince Zain asked, “Would you allow me the honor of teaching you a Malkan dance, Prince Louis?” 

“I would be honored, Prince Zain,” Louis answered and so he followed Prince Zain’s guidance until the music ended, when Louis asked, “May I now teach you a Pallstonien dance?”

Prince Zain grinned. “I would be honored.” 

It would be noted, of course, that Prince Zain was granted two dances, the first of the night to receive more than one, but Louis saw that Harry was laughingly dancing with Petal and Bee, and he didn’t care what anyone thought. 

“Thank you,” he said, bowing, and Prince Zain bowed in reply. Louis stepped back for a moment to catch his breath, glancing around the ballroom to see where the rest of his suitors were. Lord Wynn was chatting with Duke Katrins and Count Harting, while Ed smiled as he stopped beside Louis. 

“May I have this dance?” Ed asked, bouncing slightly in place. 

“Of course, Sir Minstrel,” Louis said. “Shall I lead?” 

“Eh.” Ed shrugged. “Don’t matter much to me.” 

Louis laughed, taking his hand. 

They ended up dancing for the next four songs and while Ed clearly had a bit of knowledge of dancing, he happily followed Louis, laughing for most of their dances. 

Lord Wynn finally stepped in and Louis chose not to make the dance a game as he had with Nick. Once they finished, Lord Wynn bowed and thanked him so Louis stepped back off the dance floor. 

“Here,” he heard and turned to see Fi holding out a small cup of water. 

“Thanks,” he said, taking it and draining it down. “Are you having fun?” 

She nodded. “We’ve all danced with Harry,” she said, with the same smug smile Lottie usually wore. 

“That’s wonderful,” he drawled, glancing up in time to see the Grand Arsewipe stalking toward him. “Oh, lovely,” he muttered. Fi followed his gaze and snickered. He handed her the empty glass, stepping forward to bow to the Grand Arsewipe, who bowed back just enough to satisfy protocol, barely enough to be polite. 

“Dance with me,” the Grand Arsewipe ordered with but the slightest inflection to make it a request. 

Louis smiled his bright court smile and allowed the Grand Arsewipe to lead. 

For the entire dance, Louis kept glancing at Harry, who was talking with Ed and Liam. Thankfully, after another barely polite bow, the Grand Arsewipe left him again. 

And of course Duke Walsh appeared suddenly before him. “Will you honor me with a dance, Your Highness?” he asked, bowing low. 

“Of course, Your Grace,” Louis said. 

“I am quite excited, I must say,” Duke Walsh mused, as Louis placed his hand in Duke Walsh’s palm. Louis was quite grateful it wasn’t one of the close dances. “Your courtship, I mean. It’s changing things.” 

“Well, I’m glad for it,” Louis said. “I just marvel that it’s taken so long.” 

Duke Walsh hummed. “You hope for a reign that will bring forth more changes?” he asked, smiling slightly. 

Louis nodded and decided to turn the conversation to something innocuous, since Duke Walsh seemed determined to _have_ a conversation. But as he went to ask about the spells in place to share the ball with the rest of Pallston, he felt the charms warm against his skin. He tripped at the shock of it, falling slightly into Duke Walsh; the duke steadied him, murmuring, “Are you well, Highness?” 

“I, I’m fine,” Louis said, once he was sure of his footing. “I beg pardon, Your Grace. Shall we continue?” 

Duke Walsh’s smile was smug as he nodded. “Of course, Your Highness. You are a delightful dancer.” 

Louis asked about the spell sending images of the ball across Pallston. He listened to the answer, asked another question, and he made sure to gaze at the duke from beneath his lashes, to laugh at anything that might be funny, and he wanted to light the duke on fire—

But when Duke Walsh requested another dance, Louis agreed. 

“I hope I have impressed you,” Duke Walsh said as the music ended, bowing. 

Louis inclined his head in reply. “You were certainly memorable, Duke Walsh.” 

“May I have this dance, Your Highness?” Harry asked so Louis turned in time to see him bow. 

“The final suitor,” Duke Walsh said, a bit of disgust in his tone. “I suppose I must let you go, Prince Louis.” 

Louis saw the anger in Harry’s eye but knew that no one else would as Harry said softly, “Thank you for allowing me to dance with him, Duke Walsh.” 

Duke Walsh smiled tightly. “I shall see you later, Highness.” 

Harry held out a hand. 

.

Everyone in the palace knew that they were friends. The music began slowly, and so Louis placed his hands on Harry’s hips as Harry’s hands linked behind his neck, and he asked, “Are you enjoying the ball, Mr. Styles?” 

“I am, Prince Louis,” Harry replied, grinning down at him. 

“You look… amazing,” Louis breathed, wanting to kiss him. “You borrowed this from Aiden?” 

“Aye,” Harry said. Black trousers that clung to him, a black shirt, a black blazer over it, and his hair falling in ringlets that _begged_ for Louis’ fingers— “I’m glad you like it,” Harry murmured, eyes dropping to Louis’ mouth. 

Louis tried and failed to control his smirk. "Do you know how to dance, Mr. Styles?" he asked, gazing up at Harry through his eyelashes.

"I do, Highness," Harry answered, "though of course not these courtly dances of yours."

"Well then, Harold," Louis ordered, "show me a Holmes Chapel dance."

Harry smirked. "Think you can keep up?"

Louis tightened his grip on Harry's hip. "Show me," he murmured.

And so they danced.

.

The Holmes Chapel Winter Solstice dance became Louis' favorite waltz became a third, a fourth, a fifth, a sixth—became nearly an hour gone, because Mum announced, "Dinner is served! Please, do eat at your leisure."

"Are you hungry?" Louis asked, realizing at last that he himself was famished.

"I am, I think," Harry said. "I hadn't even noticed."

"Well, c'mon, then," Louis said, stepping back. "We should feed you before you collapse."

Harry laughed softly. "Of course, Louis." 

Louis wanted to take his hand and lead him, but that would be entirely too personable, surely. Instead, they walked in concert to the buffet set near the garden entrance, where they browsed their way along, discussing how Harry’s hometown dances compared to the court dances, and Louis knew it had been noticed how much more time he spent with Harry than any other suitor, but as they _had_ been friends, it could surely be explained away. And, romantics aside, who would actually believe that the Crown Prince would pick an apprentice cook over the royalty and nobility that were his competitors? 

“We should mingle,” Louis said softly as they turned away from the table.

Harry nodded. “Ed’s talking with Prince Aiden and a few of the townsfolk this way,” he said, gesturing with the hand that wasn’t holding a plate. He headed towards the small crowd and Louis followed, greeting the courtiers as they passed them.

“Sir Minstrel, Your Highness,” Louis said cheerfully, “how are you finding your first Pallstonien ball?” 

Harry shook his head in amusement while the commoners laughed. “It has been fun, _Your_ Highness,” Aiden returned, and Louis was glad to see that there was fire to him, after all.

“And you, Sir Minstrel?” Louis asked, nudging his plate closer to Harry as Harry had already eaten what little he’d gotten for himself.

“I am enjoyin’ myself, yeah,” Ed answered. “What was that dance, the third one?” he asked Harry.

Harry looked up from Louis’ plate, eyes widening, and he brought a hand to his mouth to hide that he was still chewing while he said, “The Greeting of the Spring.”

“After you’ve finished eating,” Ed chuckled, “can you teach it to me? It looked like the most fun I’ve seen all night.”

Harry swallowed the bite of turkey and nodded. “I’d be happy to.”

Louis frowned a little, glancing from Harry to Ed and back, but before he could think of anything to say, one of the commoners asked hesitantly, “Your Highness?”

He instantly pulled his court smile on, turning to face her. “Yes, miss?” She was clearly older than Lottie, but not by much, wearing a simple, bright purple gown, with her dark hair in ringlets that spilled down her back. She was no beauty by any means, but she was lit up with excitement despite the nerves clearly wracking her.

“May I… um.” She took a deep breath and he kept smiling at her. “Your Highness,” she began again. “May I have this dance?”

“Will you first honor me with an introduction, milady?” he asked, bowing slightly.

She blushed but curtsied. “I’m Rosalind Sevin, Your Highness,” she said. “I’m an artisan apprentice in town.”

“Welcome and well met, Mistress Sevin,” Louis replied. He handed off his plate to Harry with a quick smile so that he could offer the girl his hand. “Will you honor me with a dance?”

She was still blushing fiercely but said firmly, “I would be delighted.”

.

After Mistress Sevin, there was a stream of girls who found the courage to ask for a dance; Louis obliged them all. Eventually, a few of the younger men asked, too. Nick returned for a second dance, and Niall and Liam, and when Louis finally took a break as the clock struck ten, he settled beside Zain out on the terrace and they chatted about Mistress Watson’s work. He tarried for as long as was polite, and then returned to the ball.

“Prince Louis,” Duke Walsh said, once again appearing out of nowhere. “Will you honor me with another dance?” 

“Of course, Your Grace,” Louis said with all the charm he could muster.

.

After Duke Walsh, Louis danced with Mum and Fi, and then said goodnight to the twins as it was half past ten. Fi went with them and as Louis looked around, he noticed that quite a few people had retired for the evening. He caught Harry’s eye and Harry grinned, turning back to say something to his companions before leaving them.

Louis met him in the middle of the ballroom and they bowed to each other. “Can we do the Greeting of the Sun again?” Louis asked.

“Only if we do that waltz after,” Harry said.

.

It wasn’t until long after midnight that Louis finally went back to his room, exhausted. He wanted Harry with him, but they’d separated at the staircase, without even a goodnight kiss, which bothered Louis more than he wanted to admit.

And tomorrow, Louis would be in the middle of everything, watched the entire time. Bloody _Royal Hunt_. He hadn’t liked it even when he was a boy. Thankfully, this was symbolic more than anything else. 

After all, he wondered as he stripped off his finery and fell into his bed ( _alone_ ), what were the chances that a _unicorn_ of all things would make itself obvious just in time to be hunted?

…

The Royal Hunt would start promptly at half nine, with the hunters riding out and the procession following after. The way Louis had described it, it was like a mobile party. All of the noble and royal suitors, save Grand Duke Nicolò, were riding with the hunters, and Harry had nervously asked if he could stay with the procession.

“Of course you can!” Louis answered, so that was Harry’s plan. As he joined the crowd waiting near the rear entrance of the palace, he saw it was apparently Ed’s plan, too. Harry happily went up to him so they could resume their interrupted discussion of Gryn’s somewhat tumultuous history with Pallston. 

“Mr. Styles, Mr. Sheeran!” Matthew, one of the stablehands, called. “Come mount your assigned horses, please!”

Harry was to ride a large bay mare, and he was glad that she was one of the horses he was most familiar with. He patted her neck before stepping onto Matthew’s offered hands so he could swing himself up. “Hiya, Syrena,” he murmured to her, patting her shoulder. She snorted, shaking her head.

Ed was not having as much luck. His assigned horse was a gelding who liked to laze about, and was normally assigned to children. Rance kept shying away from Ed, who was obviously losing patience. The stablehands were also getting annoyed, but they knew Rance far better than Harry did, so they’d surely given him to Ed for a reason.

“I don’t like horses!” Ed finally shouted. “I’ll just… ride in one of the carriages or something.”

Jordan, another stablehand, came over, gently taking the lead from Alex and shooing away the group of stablehands. “I know that you’re a layabout,” he told the horse seriously, “but you’re makin’ us look bad, too. Stop it.” Rance snorted. “I doubt very seriously that this one here,” and he nodded towards Ed, whose arms were crossed, “is going to go much faster than a trot, so mind your manners, you lout.”

Jordon turned away from Rance’s head, ordering, “Dan, get this man on this horse and let’s get this procession outta here.” 

Harry watched, both awed and bewildered, as Rance stood completely still and allowed Ed to pull himself up and then get situated on the saddle. 

“Good lad,” Jordan said, rubbing Rance’s ears, once it was clear Ed wasn’t about to tumble off.

“You alright there, Ed?” Harry asked, trying not to laugh when Ed glared at him.

“Come along!” Mistress Cole shouted from where everyone else was starting to ride off. 

“This is utterly mad,” Ed muttered, but Rance followed Syrena as Harry clucked his tongue and gently kicked her sides. 

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be fun!” Harry called over his shoulder.

“Right,” he heard Ed say flatly. “Fun.” 

Harry laughed, tilting his face up the sun. It was a beautiful day, last night was amazing, and he’d dreamed about peeling that blue suit off Louis and licking every inch of his skin. And while he didn’t want to see the actual killing of whatever creature they were hunting for, he knew that the procession part was just (well, according to Louis, who surely knew) a slow-moving party and he was determined to impress not only the queen but all of the accompanying nobility.

He clucked again, asking Syrena to speed up, and with Ed whining behind him, they broke into a trot so they could catch up with everyone else.

.

“Mr. Styles!” the queen called an hour into the journey. “Come ride with me.” 

She was in the middle of the procession, in riding breeches and a dark shirt, with two of the court mages accompanying her—Mage Huq and Mage Devine. Mage Cowell was somewhere up ahead, Harry was relieved to note as he pulled Syrena up beside the queen’s chestnut mare. Most of the Queen’s Council had joined them or the hunting party itself, and at least half the court mages were spread out somewhere. Harry wondered, briefly, how Mage Byrne’s search into their loyalties was going—he knew she hadn’t come on the hunt. 

“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing as best he could as Syrena fell into step with the queen’s palomino mare. “How may I be of service?” 

Queen Johanna smiled at him. “Tell me about the royal kitchens, Mr. Styles.” 

A quick glance towards the mages revealed that they were as confused as him. “Um, anything in particular?” he asked, tugging Syrena back when she tried to surge forward. 

“Are they satisfactory, Mr. Styles?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is there anything they need?” 

“I don’t think so?” he said. “Um, would you like me to tell you what I do in a usual day?” 

Nodding, Queen Johannah said, “That would be perfect, Mr. Styles.” 

Harry was fairly certain his name had never been used so frequently in a conversation. Instead of commenting on _that_ , though, he said, “Well, usually, I get to the kitchen at half five and eat breakfast with Barbara, and then she’ll assign me somewhere for the day.” He glanced from the countryside to the queen, but she wasn’t looking at him, thankfully. “I can assist anyone who needs it, and I’ve actually been given charge of a course at two separate feasts.” 

“But what do you do in a regular day?” Queen Johannah asked. 

Harry nodded, “Um, right, sorry for getting distracted, Majesty. Um.” His mind completely blanked. 

This was not impressive at all, was it? He exhaled slowly and then said, “Once I’ve been assigned a duty, I begin assembling everything necessary to complete it.” 

Explaining in detail what was required of him would surely be boring, but she _had_ asked. And then she asked pointed questions as he talked, and she made little jokes like Louis did, and Harry realized as they rode slowly after the hunting party, that he actually _liked_ Queen Johannah. She was still utterly terrifying, of course, but as a person, she was quite lovely. 

Which made sense, of course. He quite liked every single one of her children, and they’d surely gotten it from somewhere. 

Once he’d trailed off, unsure of how to continue the conversation since he was done explaining his duties, Queen Johanna asked, “Did you always wish to become a royal cook?” 

“Um, no, Majesty,” he said. “I just sort of… fell into it, thanks to my mother.” 

She laughed. “And then you met my son.” 

“Yes,” Harry said. Had Louis ever told her that they’d—well, not really _known_ each other prior to Harry’s apprenticeship? 

Queen Johanna laughed again. “Thank you for keeping me company, Mr. Styles. I’m sure you’d rather return to your fellow suitor.” 

Harry glanced back towards where Ed was sulking while Rance plodded along. “I think Ed is doin’ fine without me, Your Majesty.” 

“Well, if you’re sure…” she murmured, smiling the smile Louis always wore right before he caused some terrible mischief. “I heard that you told a lovely story at the Welcome Feast for Lord Wynn and Prince Zain.” 

Harry’s eyes widened and he looked down at his hands, which he had to forcefully loosen around the reins. “I told a legend from Holmes Chapel, yes,” he said hesitantly. 

Queen Johanna sounded entirely too excited when she ordered, “Please tell it to me, Mr. Styles. I find myself unbearably curious.” 

Looking to the court mages and then past them to the courtiers didn’t help at all. Mage Huq actually shrugged at him, with a somewhat pained expression on her face. She probably knew which story the queen wanted, then. 

“Um, it’s a little… gory,” Harry said, “and… well, it hasn’t got a happy ending.” 

“You’re only whetting my appetite,” Queen Johannah said with a bright laugh. 

There truly was no way out of this, except maybe—“Wouldn’t you rather hear a tale from a renowned minstrel?” he asked, perhaps a touch desperately. 

“Oh, Minstrel Sheeran will be performing eventually,” she said. “But I’m interested in this Pallstonien tale.” He glanced over and she smiled innocently at him. He recognized it from Louis’ mischief. 

So he sighed again and said, “Yes, Majesty.” He would need to actually tell the story in order this time, so after a deep breath, he began, “The first time she visited, was in the dead of winter, when all the world was cold.” 

Their part of the procession slowed down as more people began listening, and it was nerve-wracking—but also exhilarating. Of course, he wasn’t as good of a storyteller as Ed (who was?) but he kept everything in its place this time, and Queen Johannah was a perfect audience, gasping and cringing in the right places, and maybe he could actually be an impressive suitor, after all. 

.

At midday, Queen Johannah halted the procession so that a light lunch of sandwiches and fruit could be served. She asked Harry and Ed to join her, and then quizzed Ed on various folktales of the continent. Harry was content to just sit quietly with them and listen but then one of the younger courtiers settled gracefully beside him, in a pair of bright red breeches and a black shirt. Her dark hair was pulled severely back in a tail that looked very uncomfortable. 

“Mr. Styles, is it?” she asked. “I am Countess Harting.” 

“Milady,” he said, inclining his head. “May I help you with something?” 

“I believe I’ve met your mother,” the countess said. 

Harry froze, then lowered his sandwich before meeting her eyes, a blue nowhere as lovely as Louis’. “My mother, milady?” 

She smiled, delicately biting into a strawberry. She made him wait until she’d chewed and swallowed to say, “You look like her. We were having a… vermin problem that she cleared up quite forcefully.” 

“I believe you’re mistaken, Countess,” Harry said. 

She nodded, still smirking a little. “Anything is possible, of course, _apprentice_. It was years ago, after all.” She tilted her head, tapping one of her fingers against her lips. “Eight, possibly? The journeymage had a boy with her.” 

Queen Johannah was debating with Ed, and it seemed that most everyone in hearing distance was focused on that. Harry hadn’t the first idea how to convince Countess Harting she was wrong, or at least convince her to not tell anyone. 

“Don’t look so worried,” she said after a moment. “I’m surely mistaken.” She smiled and gracefully rose to her feet. He gazed up at her, waiting; she laughed and turned away. 

Everyone was still listening to the queen and Ed, slowly working their way through lunch, but Harry’s appetite was completely gone, so he stood and went to where the horses were being watched by one of the stablehands—Dan, Harry thought. The one Louis was wary of, because the queen favored him. He wanted to take Syrena and ride on, distract himself from the knowledge that Countess Harting would surely demand something later for her silence. Come up with a good reason to not mention it to Louis. Which, of course, there wasn’t one. Keeping something from Louis wouldn’t feel right, anyway. 

“Hullo,” Dan said, offering him a comb. “Syrena has tangles in her mane, if you’d like to work on them?” 

“I would,” Harry said, taking the comb. 

He and Dan worked silently, managing to partially groom nearly a dozen horses before the call was sounded to resume the procession.

“Thank you,” Harry said as he swung back into Syrena’s saddle. 

“Just glad I could help,” Dan answered, patting Syrena’s shoulder. “Good luck with the courting.” 

Harry grinned, deciding to worry about Countess Harting later and to continue enjoying the day. “You, too,” he called, clucking to Syrena and guiding her back to Ed. 

.

Periodically throughout the morning, Harry glanced up at the sky, looking for the magical net. It wasn’t there and he wanted to send a message to Mum—but with Cowell and Walsh (and whoever else) all spread out through the hunting party, he didn’t dare. It felt awful, possibly being able to get a message out, but he had no idea of their capabilities. No idea if they’d be able to sense it. 

So he eventually stopped looking at the net, breathed out the frustration, and focused on his companions. 

…

While he didn’t enjoy the _hunting_ aspect all that much, Louis did enjoy being out in the fresh air on horseback, even if he didn’t have Harry with him. He’d been gifted with a young blue roan stallion from King Yaser of Malka on his 18th birthday and Zain had smiled when he saw Rogue being led out for Louis to mount. Usually, he’d have tacked Rogue up himself but today, with so many guests—it had simply been easier to have the stablehands do it and have all the horses ready once everyone had gathered in the courtyard. 

“I remember this one,” Zain said, holding out a hand to the horse after glancing to Louis for permission. “He has a long, proud lineage.” 

“He’s been good,” Louis laughed as Rogue nudged him. 

On their various adventures, he and Harry hadn’t gone riding out much, mainly because it was entirely too difficult to sneak away with two horses. He knew, of course, that Harry was an adequate rider, and Mum had just sighed when he chose to name his prized stallion _Rogue_. Zain snickered when he mentioned that as they waited for everyone else to mount their horses. 

“Our horsemaster would be appalled,” Zain told him. “We called him _Junah_ , for he flew around the paddock like a bird.” 

Louis shrugged. “The months leading up to my 18 birthday were… stressful,” he admitted, watching the last of the actual hunting party finally settle into the saddle. “So I named the horse what I wished to be.” 

“Are we ready?” Sergeant Higgins asked, pulling up beside Louis. 

“You should be with Mum today,” Louis said, scowling. “She’s the queen—she certainly needs guarding more than I do.” 

“She has Mage Cowell with her,” Sergeant Higgins said, clearly trying to reassure him. Louis wasn’t reassured at all and couldn’t even explain _why_ , which added to his frustration. “I’ll pass the order on that we’re moving out,” Sergeant Higgins added. “I’d prefer you weren’t leading, Highness.” 

Louis could tell how much Rogue wanted to run. He wanted to run, too, and he’d spent months getting acquainted with Rogue, proving himself to not only the horse but his own insecurities. 

“Your Highness,” Sergeant Higgins said, eyes narrowing.

Louis smiled, shifting his weight just so, and Rogue burst into a trot. “Let’s hunt!” he called over his shoulder, and he waited until he was past the palace proper, onto the path that led to the woods, to signal Rogue to canter. He could hear them behind him, nobility and guards both, and seven men who were supposed to be courting him—

It had been too long since he last raced the wind from Rogue’s back, and this wasn’t as freeing, but he settled in to enjoy it for as long as he could. 

.

Eventually, of course, Louis slowed down so that Rogue didn’t tire, and to also socialize with his companions, the suitors who had kept pace with him. At a glance, he could see that Duke Walsh and Lord Wynn must have stayed with the majority of the hunting party, which was more than fine with him, while Harry and Ed were with Mum’s procession. The Grand Arsewipe had chosen to stay at the palace for the day. 

As he fully caught up, Nick told him, “You are quite an able rider,” with a smirk on his face, and Louis laughed. 

“Y’know,” Niall mused, glancing around as they entered the woods, “there hasn’t been a unicorn seen in Pallston in… nearly a thousand years, probably.” He nudged his horse in-between Nick’s and Rogue, grinning at Louis. 

“Nor in Payen,” Liam said from Louis’ other side. 

Shaking his head, Zain said, “Malka hasn’t been graced with a unicorn in centuries.” He slowed his horse, apparently trying to enjoy the scenery. 

“What of Gryn?” Nick asked, glancing over his shoulder at Aiden, who was lagging behind slightly. Of course, the path would narrow soon, so they’d all have to decide who kept pace with Louis. He certainly wasn’t going to let anyone ahead of him. 

“We’re mountainous,” Aiden answered. “Far more likely to have dragons than unicorns, though neither has been reported in… I can’t remember when.” 

“A long time, then,” Nick chuckled. 

“That, lads, is why this is a _symbolic_ hunt,” Louis said, trying to mimic his least-favorite tutor’s proper tone. “You’re each to impress me with your prowess.” 

“And I thought you were just in it for the ride,” Nick snorted. 

“No, that’s you,” Louis retorted just as Sergeant Higgins caught up to them. 

“Highness,” he called, “the dogs have a scent. Shall we release them?” 

It obviously couldn’t be a unicorn’s scent but a stag or two would be fine, as well. “Yes,” Louis ordered. “Release the dogs.” 

Sergeant Higgins nodded and pulled his horse back so they could turn; Louis glanced to Niall, then Nick, before looking the other direction to Zain, Liam, and Aiden. “Are any of you interested in the hunt, or can we Pallstoniens show you some of our beautiful realm?” 

“Shouldn’t we stick with everyone else?” Aiden asked, a little hesitantly.

“And where would the fun in that be?” Louis demanded, clucking to Rogue to pick up the pace. Like he had known they would, the five of them followed with no more protest. 

Oh, Sergeant Higgins would fuss at him later, but as the conspirators didn’t seem to be threatening his life, what would the harm be? 

.

As they rode through the trees, Aiden peppered Nick with questions about his magic while Liam and Zain discussed their sisters. Louis asked Niall more about the _guitar_ and eventually convinced Liam to sing, as Zain and Aiden hadn’t heard him yet. 

“Well, what should I sing?” Liam asked. 

“Does it matter?” Louis shrugged. “Sing, I don’t know, doesn’t Payen have a national anthem or somethin’?” 

Liam laughed, glancing around at the others. They were all riding in pairs, as the path had narrowed considerably, with Louis and Niall at the front and Aiden and Nick in the rear. 

“D’you know ‘The Sorrow of Eydos’?” Zain asked suddenly. “It might have a different name in Payen.” 

“Can you tell me some of the words?” Liam said. 

“I could maybe…” Zain trailed off and Louis looked over his shoulder in time to see him duck his head and run his fingers through his hair. “I could sing the first verse, and if you know it, you could join me?” 

Louis smiled, turning back to face the front. Niall caught his eye and grinned. 

Zain began hesitantly, and it wasn’t a song Louis was familiar with. He wasn’t even sure he liked the song, as it was terribly sad. “Before the stars were lit,” Zain sang softly, “when there was only night, and the wind blew cold, the goddess went walking along a lonesome road.” He paused, possibly for a breath, and when he continued, Liam sang, too. 

It was an utterly heart-wrenching song, and somehow, the both of them managed to climb into Louis’ chest and rip his heart out, but thankfully, Niall didn’t mention that he wiped at his eyes multiple times ‘til the song reached its terrible close. 

“Could you maybe sing something a little less morose now?” Nick asked when they were done. “How about a pub tune? Do princes know pub tunes?” 

Niall cackled. “Oh, I’ve got a good one for ya!” He hummed a little before belting out a ditty that Louis knew for a fact he’d heard a few of the knights singing, so he decided to shout it, too. 

From there, it somehow turned into a game of who could invent the silliest, dirtiest lyrics, at a volume high enough every creature in the forest was surely hiding, and it was quite a bit of fun. The only thing Louis regretted about the morning was that Harry wasn’t there to share it. 

.

“Your _Highness_ ,” Nick called as Louis’ stomach let him know it was surely around lunchtime, “do you have even the faintest clue where we are?” 

“Of course,” Louis called back. “We’re in the Elder Forest, Lord Grimshaw!” 

Niall laughed while the three foreign princes looked a bit lost and Nick sighed loudly. 

“It does seem quite old,” Aiden offered, “but I’m unsure as to why that’s so funny?” 

“It just means he doesn’t actually know where we are, or how to get back to the palace,” Nick grumbled. 

“It’s a play on the forest’s name in Old Pallstonien,” Louis explained, slowing Rogue down a bit so that he could ride beside Aiden. The other four shuffled around so that they were all still only two abreast, and Louis hoped the path widened soon. At least the birds had begun making noise again; a truly silent forest was eerie. “You see,” he continued once Rogue had settled, “long ago, before the Winter Rebellion, even, one of my ancestors decided to clear the entire thing; he didn’t like having a forest so close to the capitol.” Louis glanced up towards the trees that towered over the path. “He sent in woodsmen first, guiding the loggers, but only a few of them returned, with wild stories of monsters.” 

“Stories that went unsubstantiated, by the way,” Nick pointed out. “Elsewise I’d have never come here.” 

“You’re ruinin’ the story!” Niall said. “Let the man finish.” 

“If I may?” Louis asked, glaring mockingly over his shoulder at Nick, who waved dismissively. Liam looked confused while Zain continued gazing around at the forest. “ _Any_ way,” Louis said, “next, King Alexander sent in the mages, who were to cleanse the forest so that the loggers could resume clearcutting. It worked, for a time. About half of the Dúchas Coill was cleared before men began going missing again.” 

“Were they running off?” Liam asked when Louis paused in the story, signaling Rogue to cease walking. 

Louis shrugged as the rest all drew to a halt, as well. “That was finally the consensus, but as so much land had been cleared, the king declared himself satisfied. A few of the mages who had been to the wood spoke about how the magic of the place felt—it reminded them, supposedly, of the haunted garden at the palace.” 

“Beg pardon?” Aiden asked. “The _haunted garden_?” 

“Oh, I remember that place!” Niall exclaimed excitedly. “Greg hated it but I thought it was lovely.” 

“You would,” Louis laughed. “Anyway, there have always been stories about this place, but nothing truly horrible happens. It isn’t the main road to the capitol but quite a bit of the food at the palace comes from game hunted here.” With a smug look directed to Nick, he added, “And I do know where we are, by the by. The Lake of Light is just through there.” He pointed to a small trail that led away from the main path. 

When he was younger, Dad used to bring him (and the lads, and the girls, and everyone’s guards) to the Lake of Light for a spot of fishing. Of course, very little fishing had actually been accomplished. Mostly, they played at being woodsmen and trackers, and tried to push each other into the lake while Dad laughed. 

“Should we leave the path?” Zain asked. “Surely, by now it’s been noticed that we are – misplaced.” 

“Let’s put it to a vote,” Louis offered. “Anyone who wants to stay on this boring path and follow it until we find the hunting party, say ‘Aye.’” 

Nick and Aiden both said, “Aye!” 

“And anyone who wants to visit the lake and explore?” Louis asked. 

Niall shouted, “Aye!” while Liam and Zain looked at each other and Liam said, “Aye,” slightly before Zain did.

“We can catch fish, too,” Louis told Nick and Aiden, guiding Rogue towards the trail. “Cook ourselves our own lunch.” He grinned brightly. “You’re to impress me, after all. That would.” 

“You are a menace,” Nick scoffed but they all fell into line and followed him towards the lake. 

.

They tethered the horses close to the lake after letting each of them drink their fill. Nick made a big show of examining each horse and then each of the men before asking, “Isn’t there some sort of equipment needed for fishing?” 

Zain snickered while Niall outright laughed. 

Louis admitted to himself, though he never would aloud, that he had perhaps not thought this entire thing through. He ignored Nick’s smirk as he gazed out over the Lake of Light. It was smaller than it had been when he was a boy, though that was surely his perspective. He slowly drew closer to the water, listening to his companions’ chatter behind him. 

“What would you even do with a unicorn if you caught it?” Aiden asked. “I mean, there were a few dragon hunts, back home—but it’s been centuries, and they were always maddened beasts.” 

“Are not _all_ dragons maddened beasts?” Liam said. 

“No,” Aiden said. “According to my history tutor, once there were drake-speakers, a kind of mage who could communicate with dragons. They were always sent to the marauders before any kind of soldiers were to destroy them.” 

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Louis murmured, kneeling to trail his fingers in the lake. He hadn’t been back to it since Dad moved out of the palace. The twins probably didn’t remember the last time—Fi had nearly drowned, and she’d screamed about something trying to pull her under, but no creature had ever been found. 

“Louis!” Niall shouted, and there were hands on his shoulders, dragging him away from the shore. 

He fell. 

.

 _I have but one question, child, and then you are free to go._

Warmth on his chest, two burning lights, and _A single question. Answer truthfully for a falsehood has a high cost that your frail frame could not endure._

“Where am I?” he murmured, grabbing for the charms around his neck and glaring fruitlessly into the darkness surrounding him. “Where are the others?” 

_What is your intention, child, for the use of the ancient magicks?_

“The what?” he demanded, trying to sit up and falling back to the dirt. His entire body ached. “Where I am?” 

_I understand. Fare thee well, child._

The charms warmed until they burnt his hand but he held on, wincing at the bright light, and that voice reverberated around him, the ground shook beneath him—

“Louis!” 

It seemed like he fell back into his body from somewhere very high and he opened his eyes to see Niall and Zain, with Aiden and Nick arguing about something to his left, and Liam sounded further away, soothing the horses. He was lying on the ground and for a moment _everything_ hurt, but then it faded away. He blinked at Niall and Zain and muttered, “What happened?” as he tried to sit up. 

Zain reached out to gently push him back down, not that he’d managed to rise very far. “Stay still until the healers look at you,” he ordered. “We have no idea what happened.” 

“And how exactly are the healers gonna find us?” he wondered, staring up at the blue sky he could see through the canopy of trees. “Wasn’t I at the water?” 

“You nearly toppled into the lake,” Niall said. “And it wouldn’t have been a problem – wasn’t even ankle-deep there. But it wasn’t…” He huffed in annoyance. “Zain said it looked like something tried to _pull_ you in, Highness.” 

“What’re they arguin’ ‘bout?” he asked. He couldn’t make out any words in particular, which worried him a bit. Surely he shouldn’t be this tired? 

“It doesn’t matter,” Niall said, glaring over his shoulder. “Nicholas of Grimshaw, _summon_ help. Shoot up sparks, make a light-show, I do not care. But our prince needs healers _now_.” 

Louis rolled his head to the side but couldn’t see through Niall. The argument stopped, though. “Why’s Liam wit’ the horses?” His eyelids were getting heavier. He wanted his mum, and he wanted Harry. 

“They spooked at the same time the lake grabbed you,” Niall said. 

“Aiden,” Zain called, “your brother is a healer, yes? Has he taught you anythin’?” 

As Aiden dropped to his knees beside Zain, Louis let his eyes fall closed. 

…

As ridiculous as it was, Harry spotted the unicorn first. He pulled Syrena up short, staring, and then asked Ed, “D’you see that?” 

“See what?” Ed said, following his gaze, and then Ed gasped. 

The hunting horns sounded at the same moment Harry felt Louis’ protection charms burn, wherever Louis was. Everyone else began to notice the unicorn, which didn’t look like a horse at all, really. It was pawing at the ground and tossing its head, and the horn gleamed silver, shining like a beacon. 

Everyone was milling around frantically and Harry kicked Syrena into a canter, ignoring the shouts. The unicorn spun and dashed off, so Harry urged Syrena faster. 

The unicorn was going in the same direction as Louis’ protection charms. 

.

Harry got there about the same time as a contingent of guards led by Sergeant Higgins, apparently following Grimshaw’s illusions, which had towered over the trees. The unicorn darted through the guards, their horses all shying away, and then it stopped at Louis’ side. 

Louis, on the ground and still, eyes closed, Niall and the rest of the suitors kneeling beside him, except for Grimshaw, whose illusions dissipated while he gaped at the unicorn. 

_Your magick has soaked into his bones_ , Harry heard but no one else reacted. It hurt, loud and sharp, relentless, rolling through his bones like thunder. 

The unicorn nosed at Louis’ shoulder, completely ignoring Niall, who had to lunge to the side or be stabbed with the horn. Zain tugged Aiden out of the way and Sergeant Higgins was shouting orders at his men but nobody would dare anything while the unicorn was so close to Louis. 

It didn’t match Grandmum’s stories, and Mum had said if unicorns had ever truly existed, they’d been long gone from the world. 

_We have high hopes,_ the voice said and Harry flinched. 

“Cowell!” Sergeant Higgins shouted. “Do somethin’!” 

The unicorn tapped Louis’ chest with its horn. It laughed, low and deep and the most horrifying thing Harry had ever heard, and then it lifted its head, looking towards Cowell, who had ridden up behind Harry at some point. Was it looking at Cowell or Harry? He had no idea, and then it stepped over Louis and trotted into the Lake just beyond him. 

_The Lake of Light_ , Harry thought as it lit up, and when he’d blinked the spots out of his eyes, the unicorn was gone. 

“What in the seven hells?” Cowell muttered but Harry didn’t spare him a thought as he launched off Syrena to get to Louis. 

.

After quite a bit of shouting, the queen’s arrival, and Healer Roberts from the Gryn party examining Louis before letting him up, it was announced that Louis had suffered no lasting harm from whatever the unicorn had done. The princes and lords all talked over each other until Zain finally shouted, “Shut the fuck up!” and in the resulting silence, calmly explained that _something_ had tried to pull Louis into the lake before he collapsed, woke up for a few minutes, and passed out again before the unicorn (the _unicorn_!) showed up. 

Louis muttered complaints all through Healer Roberts’ second examination while Sergeant Higgins had his men searching the area for any hints of what could have happened and Cowell did the same thing with the mages in attendance. 

“Send everyone back to the palace,” Queen Johannah ordered from her place beside Louis. “See to it that all the guests are informed no lasting harm has been done.” 

“Yes, Majesty,” Sergeant Higgins said with a bow. He gave Louis a concerned look before he strode away. 

Harry’s hands were itching to touch Louis, and Louis kept glancing toward him, but only Healer Roberts and the queen had been allowed him near him—but the moment Healer Roberts declared for the second time that Louis was as healthy as could be, Harry dropped onto his knees and wrapped his arms around him. 

“Has anything been found, Sergeant Higgins?” Queen Johannah called. 

“I’m fine,” Louis murmured, his own arms tight around Harry and his fingers digging into Harry’s back. “I don’t even know what happened.” 

Harry lifted his face from Louis’ shoulder in time to see the lake light up again, though no one else noticed. Not even a single one of the mages. It made no sense at all, and Harry wanted Mum because certainly she’d know something, she’d be able to fix it, would keep Louis and his family safe. 

“Let’s go, lads,” Sergeant Higgins said, and Harry realized that at some point, the queen had left them. Everyone was getting back on their horses, but surely they wouldn’t expect Louis to ride on his own? And no carriages would be able to reach them, not through the trees. 

Harry pulled back from Louis and rolled to his feet, then offered his hand to Louis, who scoffed but took it and allowed Harry to pull him up. 

“Can you ride with him, Styles?” Sergeant Higgins asked. 

Louis clearly thought about protesting but decided to keep silent. “Yes, sir,” Harry said, so one of the knights led Louis’ Rogue over and another helped Harry onto the giant beast; he was _much_ larger than Syrena. Once he was situated, he and the knight helped Louis into the saddle in front of him. 

“Stay with us, Styles,” Sergeant Higgins ordered as the queen rode up beside him. 

“This is ridiculous,” Louis grumbled, “and completely unnecessary.” 

“Humor us, love,” Queen Johannah said, looking worried. 

“Yes, Mum,” he replied, a little meekly. 

“I was so frightened, Lou,” Harry confessed in his ear, holding Rogue steady while Sergeant Higgins mounted his own horse and had his men form a loose circle around them. 

“I swear I feel fine,” Louis murmured. “Can I have the reins?” 

Harry traded the reins for wrapping his arms around Louis’ middle. They didn’t speak again until they’d left the woods behind, when Louis wanted to break into a canter and Sergeant Higgins forbade him. He tried appealing to the queen, but she forbade him from going faster than a walk. 

“They’re going to demand a report,” Louis said softly, leaning back slightly. “Mum and her Council, for sure. But I don’t have any clue what happened, Harry.” 

“So tell them that,” Harry said just as softly. “I’ll probably have to answer questions as well—I saw the unicorn first, and I followed it to you.” 

“It doesn’t make sense,” Louis muttered. “I feel like there’s something… something I’m forgetting, just out of reach.” 

Harry glanced past the ring of guards, to where Cowell and his mages were riding just ahead. “Don’t mention that,” he said. “If they try to read you, it shouldn’t work, not with the charms. It’s possible they’ll believe it’s the result of the unicorn touching you.” 

Louis chuckled, “You just gave me an idea,” and by his tone, Harry knew he was wearing his wickedest smile. 

.

Once everyone was back in the palace, Harry and the suitors who had been at the lake were led to a medium-sized meeting room while Louis was taken to the infirmary for a more thorough examination by the Royal Healer. Queen Johannah and the Council joined them and the queen ordered, “Tell us _everything_ that happened today.” 

Prince Zain was the one who began speaking, while the others all contributed here and there, and when Harry’s turn came, he said, “I spotted the unicorn and it… it told me to follow it, so I did.” 

“The unicorn _spoke_ to you?” Cowell demanded while everyone else just stared at him, dumbfounded. 

“Yes, sir,” he said. “I mean, I think it was a unicorn. Wasn’t it?” 

“That has yet to be determined,” Earl Griffiths said stiffly. “Continue.” 

“Of course, sir,” Harry said. “Um, I followed the unicorn and it led me right to Louis. I think…” he paused, glancing to the queen and Sergeant Higgins. “I think everyone else followed me? But I just knew I had to keep up.” He looked to Prince Zain, took strength from Prince Zain’s smile, and told the rest of it to his hands. “And then, the unicorn, it, it _touched_ him with its horn before it just... faded away.” 

“Hmm,” Cowell said, not that Harry glanced up to see whatever expressions they were all wearing. He was fairly confident that none of the mages would be able to read him, and if they tried and _realized_ they couldn’t, he’d blame it on the unicorn speaking to him. And if they _could_ , then it was all for naught, anyway. “This is quite a fortuitous event,” Cowell mused. “Advantageous, as well.” 

“Is it?” Queen Johannah asked icily, and Harry did look up to see her glaring at the mage. 

“Your Majesty,” he continued, fawning just a bit. “I meant only that the prince has been blessed by a sacred creature—he has come to no harm, so what else could it have been?” 

It shouldn’t have worked—Queen Johannah should’ve been livid, should’ve been demanding true answers, not resting until the entire thing had a satisfactory explanation. But instead of any of that, she settled back into her chair and nodded. Harry had to breathe out slowly, squeezing his fingers together until he’d regained control of the anger, as Queen Johannah said, “Perhaps you’re right.” Harry had to look back at his hands so he wouldn’t attack Cowell for the smug expression on his face. The queen continued, “Once I’ve heard back from the healers that all is well, I’ll announce it at dinner.” 

“Do you need us for anything else?” Lord Grimshaw asked. 

“No, you’re all dismissed,” Queen Johannah said. 

Harry was closest to the door. Normally, he would wait until all of the royals and nobles had filed out, would bow to the queen and her Council. But today, he pushed back his chair and stalked out without a single look to anyone in the room, focusing all of his attention on _not_ letting his magick do as it liked, which would’ve been disastrous. If his magick were anything like Gemma’s… 

But it wasn’t, and he had it all back under control by the time he stepped into the infirmary, where he could hear Louis complaining all the way from the door. 

“I feel perfectly fine,” Louis was telling Healer Thirwall as Harry wound his way to the private examination room. Half a dozen healers had crowded into the room, Harry saw as he kept to the door. He assumed each of them was using a different diagnostic spell, far more advanced than anything Harry had ever attempted. 

“Well, everything appears normal,” Healer Thirwall said, flicking her fingers to dismiss something Harry couldn’t see. “That’s enough, everyone. Let’s give the prince a moment, yeah.” She shooed everyone out, smiling at Harry and winking. He blushed but slipped into the room and gently closed the door behind him. 

Louis collapsed dramatically, covering his face with his hand. “What the fuck even happened, Harold?” he asked, though it was barely understandable because of his hand. 

“According to C—that man,” Harry said, settling onto the edge of the cot, “you’ve been blessed by a unicorn.” 

Louis’ laugh was sudden and loud, and he sat back up to stare at Harry and demand, “He said _what_?” 

Harry nodded. “You’ve been blessed by a unicorn. Once Healer Thirlwall reports that you’re perfectly fine, your mum will announce it at dinner tonight.” 

“I’ve been blessed by a unicorn,” Louis repeated, shaking his head. “That’s… that’s amazin’.” 

“I felt the charms defend you against something,” Harry said, reaching out; Louis took his hand and squeezed it. “And the unicorn did touch you. It… it told me something, but I can’t remember what.” 

“I don’t remember anything after we reached the Lake of Light,” Louis admitted. “And I’m sure the conspirators will examine me magickally, but since the unicorn actually touched me, it can account for anything out of the ordinary.” He snickered, tugging at Harry’s hand so Harry scooted closer, leaning into him. “Like, say,” Louis drawled, “them being unable to enter my mind, the traitors.” 

“There was actually a unicorn, though, Lou,” Harry whispered, wishing Mum were there. “What… for the first time in _centuries_. It must mean something.” 

Louis sighed, resting his cheek on the top of Harry’s head. “I dunno, love. But tomorrow’s a free day and there’s things I need to tell you.” 

“And I, you,” Harry said, remembering the countess. 

“So, as it will surely be understandable if I’m absent for the day,” Louis said, “how about we hole up in your room and do absolutely nothin’ all day long?” 

Harry laughed softly. “I like the sound of that.” 

.

Healer Thirwall released Louis after a few more minutes and Louis said, “I should find the girls before they hear rumors.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” Harry asked. 

Louis nodded. He reached up to trail his fingers along Harry’s cheek before leaving the infirmary. 

“You should be more careful,” Healer Thirwall said from behind Harry and he spun in place to see her smiling, eyes distant. “When you’re careless with what you love, it often goes missing.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said after a moment. 

She shook her head and disappeared back into the depths of the infirmary. Harry hurried from the infirmary, deciding to just wander until he found something to do. Hiding in his room seemed like a good idea, but he didn’t just want to be alone with his thoughts. The kitchens surely needed hands—so it was to the kitchens he went, just for mindless, endless tasks. 

. 

Once he’d been banished from the kitchens with orders to rest, Harry took a few leftover sandwich fixings and made his way back to his room. It was long after sunset, near to midnight, and there was a prince curled up on his bed. 

Harry stared at him as he set the bread and meat on the table, as he stripped out of his clothes, as he brought a hand to his mouth to contain the cries that wanted out – and then he heard, “Harold, come to bed.” He nearly tripped in his haste, and Louis was murmuring, “There, love, ‘s’alright, innit?” as Harry clutched at him, silent tears pouring down. “Everythin’ll be alright, I promise,” Louis told him, and Harry had to believe it. 

…

They spent the day in Harry’s quarters. Most of the morning, they stayed in bed, curled together. Louis told him about Forbidden Artes, which he’d brought with him, along with the probably-useless history book. Harry talked about Countess Harting and her implicit threat. He also went into far more detail about the hedgewitch he’d spoken with in town, and the entire time, he sounded like he was angry with himself for… something. Louis wanted to console him but had no idea how, so he waited until Harry fell silent, his head hanging low so that Louis couldn’t catch his eye, and then Louis said, “You know that none of this mess is your fault, right?” 

“But I should be _better_ ,” Harry said. “I should _know_ more. I should be able to _do_ more for you.” 

“Think about it like this,” Louis said, scooting in closer, unfolding Harry’s arms just a little so that he could slip in and murmur directly into Harry’s ear. “Now, listen closely, Harold Styles, husband-to-be.” He waited for Harry to breathe out and then he said, “If you were at university, I’d have been bespelled months ago, wouldn’t I?” 

Harry inhaled sharply and Louis leaned in, resting his chin on Harry’s shoulder as Harry’s grip tightened around him. It wasn’t at all comfortable but he wouldn’t move his legs into a better position until Harry let go. 

.

Near noon, they finally migrated from Harry’s bed to the small couch and while nibbling on the sandwiches Harry prepared, Louis read through the history book and Harry devoured Forbidden Artes. 

“This is terrible,” he said while only on the second page. 

Louis laughed. “It gets worse.” 

.

As expected, the history book was mostly useless. It had nothing new on the Winter Rebellion, of course, but it devoted an entire chapter to Gregor the Mad. He’d been married but without a child when he died—no one was entirely sure what killed him. Usually, it was recorded as an illness of some sort. Or poison, as everyone knew he was a tyrant. Some said the queen (whose name had long been lost) had killed him, and usually in the stories, she died right after him. Usually, one of his younger sisters took the throne, or one of his nephews. There was a lineage tapestry in the Greater Library, woven by a powerful mage to always record the Pallston monarchy, and according to it, after Gregor I (and the only ‘Gregor’, as he was so hated that no one would ever use the name again) Gregor’s sister Helena took the throne. Her son William ruled next, and so the bloodline continued, all the way down to Louis and his sisters. None of the spouses’ names were recorded on the tapestry, as none of them were of the bloodline. 

It wasn’t until Louis got to the very last sentences of the chapter that he found anything new. Instead of Gregor’s warmongering (which of course after Louis I’s Winter Rebellion and Alexander III’s peaceful reign wasn’t wanted at all), according to this history text, it was Gregor’s obsession with magick that did him in. Of course Louis had known Gregor was the last mage in the family; everyone knew that. But that his magick killed him— 

“Oh, that’s just disgusting,” Harry exclaimed, slamming Forbidden Artes closed and throwing it to the side. 

Louis laughed again, glad for the distraction. “You’ve still got a way to go,” he said, closing his own book. 

“But it’s just…” Harry sighed, toppling over so that he stretched across Louis’ lap. “The story’s interesting enough, I suppose. But the _writing_ …” 

Louis grinned. “What about if I read it to you?” 

Harry shifted around so that he could smile up at Louis as Louis began threading his fingers with Harry’s curls. “I suppose I wouldn’t have to see the terrible writing, then,” Harry mused, closing his eyes and tilting his head toward Louis’ fingers. 

“You’d best not fall asleep,” Louis warned him, trying to lean over and grab the book without dislodging him. 

Of course, because Harry was a show off, the book floated over to him and waited patiently for Louis to grab it from the air. He tugged a bit sharply at one of Harry’s curls for that but Harry just kept grinning smugly, eyes defiantly closed. 

“There will be a quiz,” Louis said, flipping through the book to where he could guess Harry had left off. He cleared his throat before putting on his best court crier voice to read the overwrought prose as dramatically as possible. He ignored Harry’s giggles and managed to get through four pages before he began to laugh. 

.

Eventually Louis had to drag himself from Harry’s room for dinner with his sisters. He left both books with Harry and went to one of the smaller dining halls, where Lottie was pacing around while Fi tried distracting the twins with a story. Bee saw him first and jumped up, racing to him. 

“I’m fine, love, I promise,” he said as he caught her and spun around. The other girls surrounded them so he dropped Bee to give out kisses and hugs. “C’mon,” he finally said as their voices overlapped each other. “Let’s sit down, yeah, and I’ll tell you everythin’.” 

Well, most everything. 

.

The next few days were quiet. He spent Thursday morning meeting with the Council about the Hunt and then socializing with Zain, Liam, and Niall down at the stable, helping with the horses, before working with Mum in Court for the afternoon. That evening, he was sat with Duke Walsh and the Grand Arsewipe for the mages’ performance, unfortunately; the show was entertaining enough, as the Court Mages showed off, and then dinner was a sample of delicacies from every realm of the continent.

“Tell me, if you wouldn’t mind,” Duke Walsh murmured as Louis picked at his food, “did you truly meet a unicorn, Highness?” 

“So I’ve been told,” Louis said. “I don’t remember much of the Hunt, though.” 

Duke Walsh asked, “What do you remember?” and his gaze was sharp, assessing, as Louis met his eyes before looking back down at his food.

“I remember approaching the Lake of Light,” Louis told him. “After that, there’s nothing—not even the sense that I’m missing time.” He laughed. “I was apparently blessed by a unicorn. At least, according to Mum.” 

“Hmm, yes, so I heard,” Duke Walsh said. “Well, I’m glad you’ve not come to lasting harm, Highness.” 

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Louis said as sincerely as he could. 

Duke Walsh’s smile was condescending, but he at least turned to speak to Mage Friedman about a tracking spell. Louis continued picking at his food and escaped gratefully when the meal ended. 

He returned to his own room and thankfully sank into the bath Eton had drawn for him. “You should inform me, Highness,” Eton said, “when you won’t be returning for the night.” 

Louis looked up, eyes widening, but Eton’s face was expressionless. “I spoke with your assigned bodyguard, Highness,” Eton continued, “and we ascertained your whereabouts quickly.” 

“And to whom did you report?” Louis asked, pulling on his Court mask with ease even as the rest of him panicked. 

“No one, Highness,” Eton said. “Should I have?” His face softened infinitesimally. “Have you truly thought you were hiding it?” 

And the panic came back. “Does anyone besides the servants know?” If Cowell found out—

“No, Highness,” Eton said. “We have…” He paused, tilting his head slightly. “Since his arrival, we have noticed his care of you.” 

Louis settled back into the tub, watching as Eton shuffled almost nervously in place. “Something has changed recently, Highness; we have all seen it. Something is… not right. But we have little recourse except to continue our tasks.” 

“You could have left,” Louis admitted. 

Eton nearly smiled. “No, we couldn’t have, Highness,” he corrected gently, sounding more caring than Louis had ever heard from him before. “Not after we watched you children grow.” 

Louis had absolutely no idea what to say but he finally managed, “Thank you.” Eton had been assigned to him on his 16th birthday, when he’d finally been deemed too old for the nursemaids and keepers his sisters had, and Eton had taken the charge far more seriously than Louis. 

“Of course, Highness,” Eton said, bowing formally, as he hadn’t in years. He left the bathing chamber silently and Louis stared at the doorway, completely bewildered. 

He went to sleep that night still a bit confused, and the next morning, when Eton bustled in with the clothes Louis would be wearing for the parade around the city, Louis greeted him with a smile and sincere questions about the man’s family. 

.

The clothes Louis will be parading around the city in were casual and comfortable, and Pallston’s colors, of course. He knew that Harry wouldn’t be joining them; he’d be conducting some quiet research in one of the lesser-visited libraries. Louis also assumed that Duke Walsh wouldn’t be joining the group either. If anyone asked (though no one probably would), the reasoning would be that since they both lived in either town or the palace would be excuse enough. 

The remaining suitors (including, shockingly enough, the Grand Arsewipe) had gathered in the main entryway. “Welcome, gentlemen,” Louis announced as he descended the staircase. 

“Prince Louis!” Niall cheered. He jokingly offered to help him down the last few stairs. Louis jokingly accepted, placing his hand daintily into Niall’s. Liam, Zain, Nick, Aiden, and Ed crowded around him and he greeted them cheerfully; Lord Wynn nodded to him with a smile. 

Sergeant Higgins cleared his throat so Louis said, “Would you all prefer a walking tour or carriages?” 

“Carriages, of course,” the Grand Arsewipe said with a snooty sniff. “Walking, honestly.” 

Louis smiled at him. Sergeant Higgins had a sudden coughing fit because he’d seen that smile before. “Of course, Grand Duke. I’ll have a carriage prepared for you.” 

“I’m good with walkin’ if the lads are,” Niall said. 

They all were, so Louis ordered that the carriage should follow them. There was another excursion planned for any of the visiting parties that wanted to explore with a guide but Louis (and Sergeant Higgins, and men of Sergeant Higgins’ choosing) would play tour guide for the suitors. 

All in all, the day was quite fun. It was different from his day with Harry, and none of the stallholders that he _knew_ recognized him acted like they’d ever seen him in the marketplace before. 

They ate lunch at a local tavern, near the temple district, guards looming menacingly, where Zain and Ed draw everyone into a discussion about the Great Gods’ aspects; Lord Wynn and Nick nearly came to blows over whether the Time Warder or Eydos held dominion of seasons, and Louis, who had never truly worshipped any of the gods, involved himself just to give everyone a hard time.


	4. Notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never gonna finish, which is disappointing because I personally think the twist is epic. Anyway, here's the notes.

Mage Universities: each realm has their own, controlled by the Mage Council; begin at 16, graduate between 20 and 22 depending on talent 

Hedgewitches (stay in towns/cities – loyal to nations / people; no need for university)   
Journeymages (travel where needed; allegiance to no realm; university needed)  
Royal mages (loyal to courts; university and then apprenticeship)  
Mage Council (allegiance to no realm, police all mages; university and then years as specialty before being invited to join Council)   
ArchMage (head of council; identity known only to council; voted on by Council)

Only join Mage Council by invitation of Council; each new member voted on by entire Council; ArchMage has final say, if tied. ArchMage is voted on by Council every 7 years; can only be member of Council, and no one outside of the Council knows the identity. Once on the Council, loyalty to king/country is severed (though not to family). 

Gryn: small kingdom in the mountains (next to Pallston) (Grynese)  
Malka: very large country that connects two oceans (Northern Sea and Atlantia Ocean) (Malkan)  
Payen: middling size (bounded by Malka, Pallston, and Atlantia Ocean) (Payenese)  
Festano: largest realm on continent (Festanos)   
Pallston: bounded by mountains, Gulf of Light, Payen, Malka, and Northern Sea (Pallstonien) 

Gold = 10 silvers  
Silver = 100 pallastones  
Pallastone = smallest unit of currency  
Grand ball outfit: https://metrouk2.files.wordpress.com/2014/07/ad_141082262.jpg?w=620&h=922&crop=1  
http://cdn03.cdn.justjaredjr.com/wp-content/uploads/pictures/2014/07/oned-wedding/one-direction-louis-tomlinson-wedding-06.jpg  
Wedding outfit: http://img2.timeinc.net/people/i/2015/stylewatch/blog/151207/harry-styles-600x800.jpg   
http://cdn04.cdn.justjared.com/wp-content/uploads/headlines/2015/11/one-direction-amas-2015-red-carpet.jpg

 

 

TESTS  
1\. Week 1: It has been a terrible day. What will you do to comfort your husband? [lose Nicolò and Ben]  
2\. Week 2: How do you think you and your husband will provide at least one heir for the throne? [lose Ed, Aiden, Nick]  
3\. Week 3: The Council is offering the king conflicting advice. How will you resolve the situation? [lose Walsh]   
4\. Week 4: Why do you wish to marry Prince Louis? [lose Zain, Niall, Liam]

 

the royal line has latent magick somehow connected to the ancient garden that will not die and the ritual Gregor did b/c the magic had to go somewhere: so there is now a thousand years’ worth of magick that Walsh/Cowell believe they are the right mages to use. Only mages in conspiracy know about the magic part; everyone else thinks it’s a coup. Not all court mages in conspiracy because Cowell was careful about going after ones who have misogynistic tendencies/are power-hungry 

None of Harry’s message after Walsh’s arrival actually got through and there’s a crisis brewing on the southern continent that held her attention; it’s actually Gemma who realizes something is wrong 

Walsh supposed to be chosen as Louis’ husband due to mind-magick; when the conspirators realize Louis isn’t under thrall at all, they panic and decide to perform ritual much sooner than planned

 

Do gods actually exist?

Seven Great Gods  
Head god: agender/nameless, Great One  
Eydos: Goddess of Hope, Spring, Fertility; Patron of Pallston   
Istali: Goddess of Crafting, Fire, Earth, Mages; Patron of Malka; Patron of Gryn   
Ovana: Goddess of War, Death, justice/revenge/punishment – unicorn sent by her; Patron of Festanto   
Salante: God of the Ocean, water; Patron of Payen   
Lucanos: God of animals, trickster, Air  
Time Warder: seasons, travel, celestial bodies 

 

To do:

Why did Stan leave? Does he come back?   
Differences between countries (names of gods?)

Figure out magic:  
How does everyone do it? Kinds?  
Spells?  
Offensive vs defensive  
Why only one university on whole continent? How many magic users are there?

How powerful is Harry? Does Anne know? 

What do servants think? Guards? Suitors? Conspirators? Who all is in the conspiracy? How long has it been in the works? What is the ritual the bad guys are going to perform? 

How taboo is non-het relationships? 

How far out of the palace does the latent magick extend? What do Cowell and others think? Why hasn’t the Mage Council ever studied it—or did they?

Time skip: drabbles each day from suitor’s pov? 

Week 2 (May 11 – May 17)  
Day 1: trip to the ocean  
Day 2: still at ocean  
Day 3: free day  
Day 4: another magical performance  
Day 5: another hunt (Gemma realizes no one’s heard from Harry and panics)  
Day 6: Test 2  
Day 7: Sabbath  
Week 3 (May 18 – May 24)   
Day 1: theater performance   
Day 2: tourney   
Day 3: free day   
Day 4: Ed performs a history of the Winter Rebellion from each realm’s pov  
Day 5: magical performance; Anne & Gemma arrive


	5. timeline

Part 1: The Declaration   
February 29: Johanna mind-magicked into marriage business  
March 19: Johanna tells Louis it’s time to marry   
June 7: Louis tells Johanna he’s gay   
December 24: marriage announced to Pallston   
December 31/January 1: Louis realizes he wants to marry Harry   
January 18: Harry receives word from Robin about ominous portents; gives Louis the anchor   
February 5: Johanna speaks to Harry   
March 3: suitors announced   
March 30: first attempt to mind-magick Louis

Part 2: The Suitors   
April 23: Liam arrives  
April 24: Walsh arrives  
Sunday April 26: Niall and Nick; second attempt to mind-magick Louis; Harry sends word to Anne   
Monday April 27: Aiden and Ed (from same place); Harry buys bird charms   
Wednesday April 29: Ben (morning) and Zain (evening)  
Thursday April 30: third attempt to mind-magick Louis; first attempt on the princesses; Harry sends a panicked message to Anne  
Friday May 1: Nicolò 

Part 3: The Tasks  
Saturday May 2: Harry realizes there’s a shield not letting magical messages through   
Sunday May 3: Mistress Osbourne meets with Harry  
Week 1 (May 4 – May 10)  
Day 1: Welcome Ball (M)  
Day 2: Royal Hunt (T)  
Day 3: free day (W)  
Day 4: Magical Performance (R)  
Day 5: tour of the capitol (F)  
Day 6: Presentation of the Courting Gifts; Test 1 (Sa)  
Day 7: Sabbath (Su)  
Week 2 (May 11 – May 17)  
Day 1: trip to the ocean (M)  
Day 2: still at ocean (T)  
Day 3: travel back to palace; free day (W)  
Day 4: another magical performance (R)  
Day 5: another hunt (Gemma realizes no one’s heard from Harry and panics) (F)  
Day 6: Test 2 (Sa)  
Day 7: Sabbath (Su)  
Week 3 (May 18 – May 24)   
Day 1: theater performance (M)  
Day 2: tourney (T)  
Day 3: free day (W)  
Day 4: Ed performs a history of the Winter Rebellion from each realm’s pov (R )  
Day 5: magical performance; Anne & Gemma arrive (F)  
Day 6: Test 3; Walsh fails so he and Cowell make their move (S)

Part 4: The Decision   
Day 7: Sabbath as recovery begins (Su)  
Week 4 (May 25 – 28)  
Day 1: final suitors agree to stay to finish out thing (M)  
Day 2: Test 4 (T)  
Day 3: Louis’ decision (W)

Part 5: Epilogue

June 21: marriage 

Learn Johannah’s pregnant  
Birth of twins brings magick back into the royal family


End file.
